Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz
by Vitani
Summary: 10 year anniversary! A strange mission brings Weiß and Schwarz together - to fight against Kritiker? Beware the Deceivers... Contains suggestive shounen-ai themes, strong language, and violence. Kapitel canon based.
1. Ein

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

"Lord, I would rather fight the cross; to bear it is hard. The more I progress, and the more I see Evil in the world, the heavier the Cross is on my shoulders." - _Prayers_ (1954) by Abbe Michael Quoist.

Ein (One)

The scant, feathery blue-gray light filtered through the slits of the drawn blinds, signaling the early hours of dawn. Omi Tsukiyono rolled onto his back, shielding his still tired eyes from the meager light and sighed. It took only several blinks to clear his vision of sleep, and after a few moments of staring at the ceiling, basking in the slowly growing light, he was ready to get up and face the day.

Omi's was never an attitude of "another day, another dollar", but rather "I wonder what today will bring!" He quickly got dressed in a tee, baggy sweatshirt, and worn shorts; then he left his tiny compartment of their florist trailer with his usual, innocent enthusiasm. He had to get in his daily morning jog, if only a few miles each day before opening shop.

Omi passed by the small room Yoji and Aya shared. The slight snoring meant that Yoji Kodou was still very much asleep, but as usual Aya's bed was neatly made. Omi wondered if Aya ever slept at all. His concerns were of no importance to the staid killer; Aya Fujimiya always did whatever he wanted with little regard for the others. Always. Omi accepted it as his way, so he passed by the room with little more thought.

When he reached the main living space of the trailer, he stopped, and grinned to himself. Ken Hidaka had fallen asleep on the couch again, lanky body neatly contorted to fit in the cushioned space not designed for slumber, the throw strewn in folds on the floor. He was never certain exactly why Ken constantly seemed to prefer the sofa to his bunk, but this wasn't the first time he stayed up late at night until drifting off. Omi didn't mind, though. Shaking his head, Omi went over to retrieve the fallen blanket.

"Honestly, Ken-kun," he jokingly whispered to his still sleeping teammate. Without touching him too much, Omi adjusted the blanket back over Ken, whose evenly falling and rising chest meant he was still dead to the world, like Yoji.

_If they're not up by the time I get back, I'll have to open shop by myself,_ Omi thought. He never had the heart to wake them, since they both slept so peacefully. Perhaps Aya would knock them awake before then. Speaking of which...

"Aya-kun?" Omi muttered to himself curiously. He walked around the counter into the little kitchenette section, wondering where Aya had gotten to. There was a pot of black coffee already brewed, though it was turned off. Omi touched a fingertip to it. Still hot. So the tall redhead hadn't been gone too long.

Shrugging, Omi grabbed something quick to eat and left the warm, if too close, confines of the shop-on-wheels and stepped into the bright morning light. Instantly he felt a chill, shivering into the folds of his sweatshirt and pulling the hood up. It was a crisp, autumn morning, a light fog still blanketing Tokyo. The air was fresh, but it bit at the lungs if one inhaled too sharply, which Omi knew enough not to do. The dawn's early rays brushed the turning trees like a painter's fine touch. It was a very picturesque day.

Autumn was his favorite season, but it only meant they would have less business. Not much grew in frigid climates, and they had limited space in the over-sized van for greenhouse equipment. Not only that, but who would want to brave snow and ice to visit an outdoor florist for mama's poinsettias? Aya had said they would start looking for a new shop somewhere...

Somewhere. Somewhere far from the Koneko no Sumu-ie, where they wouldn't be in competition with Grandma and Aya-chan, Ran's little sister. Omi wondered if they'd have to leave the city all together. That would probably be for the better, business-wise, and for their own sakes. Except, Omi thought with some amusement, lacing up his sneakers, they would have to commute into the city for missions. Assassins commuting to work. That was pretty lame.

With a tiny smile, Omi did a few stretches before he set out for his morning jog. He noticed the light was becoming more vivid and richer, and realized he'd already lost some precious time. He always ran the same route every morning, except for various shortcuts for when he was late to work. By the time he reached the park's limits he no longer felt the chill; indeed, he was already starting a good sweat. He politely greeted other joggers and even stopped to help an elderly lady collect her dog that had gotten off its leash before he glanced at his watch.

Ten to seven. He'd have to get back to the trailer soon to open its doors. School would be starting in almost an hour, and they always had an early morning rush of girls on their way to classes. Of course the lunch hour and after school was enormously more hectic, but a decent sized group would come in the dawn. What they did with the flowers they purchased while at study, Omi could only guess. Sometimes he would see some of the girls at his own school, and they would usually hand them over to a friend or teacher. At least, he hoped, it brightened several people's mornings that way.

Suddenly a mental alarm sounded, far in the back of his mind. Omi slowed his pace cautiously, but otherwise didn't change his demeanor. _No one is suspicious here, folks._ Just a boy getting tired from his jog. Inwardly, he began a mental check of those alarms going off. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, besides a few more people beginning to mull around at the start of their work day. Then a slight sound caught his ear; a soft, steady hum of a car's engine. Behind him.

_Why on earth... ?_

Omi didn't bother turning to look. That was way too obvious. Instead, he listened, listened to its slow course over the rhythmic sound of his own footfalls pounding on the gravel. He heard it clearly; it was going at a snail's pace on the main stretch of road beside the biker's path he was on. Slow. Following him? But why? Approaching a bench, Omi slowed his own pace and stopped beside it, thankful it was vacant. He didn't want to endanger anyone, just in case -

In case of what? Why was a car such a big deal? But it had to be. He wasn't a part of Weiß for nothing, and if his highly trained senses said something was mistaken on this bright, sunny autumn day, then something had to be wrong.

Casually, Omi leaned one foot onto the seat of the bench, stretching first one leg then the other. He was breathing heavy, but he wasn't nervous. His energy was up, not waning, and he made sure to perpetually carry his smallest set of throwing darts strapped to his arm, under his sleeve; he was ready. Pretending to be engrossed in serious arm-shoulder stretches, Omi turned and saw the car.

A black sedan, nothing too snazzy, but smartly polished and smooth. A businessman's car, but not someone high on the corporate food chain. Tinted windows. _Dammit._ He couldn't see who was behind the wheel, or even how many there were. Omi waited, and the car didn't increase nor decrease its speed.

Finally, it neared him. And went on by. Unconsciously, Omi heaved a sigh and continued his stretching. _What's wrong with you this morning, Omi,_ he thought to himself. _I never act like that. But it just went by, right on past me. Why was I so suspicious?_

Shrugging it off, Omi continued on his return jog back to the trailer, re-checking his internal security system.

* * *

Newly showered, freshly clothed, Omi opened wide the double doors to the back of the gigantic, unsightly pink florist van and began rolling out the benches and unfolding the side shelves. Luckily, on his return he found Yoji wrestling between bouts of slumber and finally deciding to get out of bed, and Ken was now in the shower. At least they'd be available to help customers so he could make his first class.

Omi slid out a sale sign boasting of the multi-colored mums; then he carefully brought out a bunch of the jeweled-tone plants when a voice made him jump.

"'Colors of autumn', huh?" said a delicate, but raspy woman's voice behind him, reading the sign he had just drug out.

"What?" Omi instinctively chimed out of shock. He wheeled around, clutching the pot safely (he had learned _that_ lesson well enough numerous times!) and met the lady's eyes.

This was not his usual customer of the day, not a young, preening girl in a school uniform. Instead he met the gaze of a woman in her early twenties, with upswept auburn hair, bleached blonde at the front, and almond-shaped gold-brown eyes. She was smartly dressed in a teal and black business dress-suit, which stood out brightly in the soft light of the early morning hours. The matching pumps were flat heeled for hours of standing. Definitely the attire of someone with a corporation; no doubt she was on her way to work like the rest of the masses.

Always prepared to handle a customer, he asked, "May I help you?"

Her smile was warm and genuine, yet her eyes shone as if she'd been awake for hours; she fixed those bright, intense eyes on Omi. She tilted her head just slightly at him as she inquired, "Is that one of them?"

Omi blinked. "Eh?"

"A mum?"

"Oh!" Omi blushed, unknowingly, for being so slow of a sudden. He responded quickly, "No, it's a Pompon Dahlia."

Her smile widened. "I was wondering," she said. "I didn't think purple was a color of fall."

"We have other colors," he offered. "This one is called Moor Place, and is always purple. Or were you looking for mums?"

"No, I was just looking. But those are pretty, what you're holding. Will they die soon for the winter?"

"These are bulbs. You can just prune them back after their natural growing cycle and leave them someplace cool and dark for hibernation. They'll be back again come spring. Or they should do well indoors and bloom continuously if fertilized and kept properly. Bulbs are easy to force. That's why it's good for the shop because we can sell them at awkward times."

"Force them to flower?" she wrinkled her nose slightly. "That sounds wrong." She stepped closer to finger one of the small globe-shaped blooms. "But I guess it helps with the business. Must be hard to keep a flower shop."

"Not as hard as some other businesses," he replied. Never rude or flippant, Omi always enjoyed talking with customers, and he tried his best to make thoughtful responses. He had a way with people, ever courteous.

"I guess you would know," she said, glancing away. Omi thought, just for a second, there was something in that glance, but he couldn't quite tell what it was. Had he said something? They were just talking about other lines of work. Maybe what she did for a living wasn't an easy topic for her. After all, what _he_ did was -

"I can't imagine doing business from a trailer, though," she commented, scanning her eyes over the automobile. "Do you live in it too? It's awfully big."

"Mmm," he nodded. "It's actually good for business because we can just pack up and move if another shop opens."

"I suppose that's true." She turned to face him, and her eyes held his intently. Omi blinked, his fingers fidgeting around the flower pot. She had a gaze as piercing as a cat's, someone who could delve into your very being. It was alluring, but yet, there was something about her, some other aspect that was familiar.

"It must be hard on someone so young, like yourself?" She looked sincerely worried.

"I don't run things alone," he replied, smiling. They were a team. Always. "The others help out, and we all do our best. It makes it easier."

"How many owners are there?"

"Ken and I pretty much mind the customers, while Aya is the best with the flowers. He can make anything grow and flourish beautifully. Yoji tends to all the finances and such." He grinned. "I still have some years of school before I can handle things like that! But sometimes Yoji needs me to help him with computers."

"Ah, computer hacker, huh?" She smiled devilishly.

"I - wouldn't say that."

She stared at him for a few more moments, then said brightly, "Well, I'd love to stay and meet your friends, but I'm afraid I have to get to work! But before I go -" She lifted the pot of purple Pompon Dahlias from Omi's hands. "I'll give these a good home!"

Omi smiled. "Sure."

After she had paid for the flowers and received her hand-written receipt, Omi watched her leave, getting into a black car across the street. Then his mind finally wandered back to work. He began setting out foil-wrapped pots of mums again, all the shades of the autumn season, and then spied a group of teen girls down the way. _Here comes the first wave! I wonder if the others are up yet?_

Deciding to quickly check on the others, Omi turned to mount the stairs - and came face to face with Yoji. Or rather, face to face-with-a-cigarette. Yoji was grinning wickedly at him in that all-too familiar way that sometimes confused him, small rivulets of gray, filtered smoke rising around him. He was elegantly sprawled on the stairway, his eyes twinkling behind lowered shades.

"Way to go, bishounen," he said suavely. "You always keep your innocent cool when you're flirting. Drives them wild." He winked behind the tinted lenses, then turned his slender face in the direction the woman had left. "Of course, she's another story."

"Yoji-kun?"

"She could very well end up in jail if she keeps hitting on minors openly like that. She could get her fancies somewhere more secretive than out in broad daylight on a respectable street corner."

Omi planted his small fists on his hips, indignant to his friend's teasing. "Yoji-kun," he said warningly.

Yoji smiled impishly. "It's only 'cuz I wasn't there for her to check out." Laughing, Yoji reached out to playfully ruffle Omi's hair.

Omi was in the process of fending him off when another voice, deep and resonant, spoke up from the door above Yoji. "You should watch what you say to strangers."

"Huh?" Omi looked up to meet Aya's violet hard gaze. His expression was more serious and stern than usual.

Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Yoji said, "_Tch_, come on, Aya." He rolled his head back to glance at Aya out of the corner of his eye. "Our little Omi isn't a toddler anymore. He knows the do's and don't's of talking to strangers." Looking back at Omi, good-natured Yoji winked again.

The cold look from Aya, whose eyes never left Omi, kept the young assassin from grinning back at Yoji. The expression was so fierce.

"Aya-kun?" Omi asked worriedly. "Is something wrong?"

For a time, Aya made no response. Finally he said, his tone serious, as if he were choosing his words carefully, "Be mindful when someone starts asking about us and the business."

He meant it, and not as a precaution about the safety of the business or the van. When Aya said to be careful, whether it was over coffee and cake or while dressed in a buckled-down trench, it was a life or death matter.

* * *

Wearing only a pair of scuffed, faded blue jeans, Ken left the shower stall and dim light of the wash room into the humidity-controlled, dark nursery, warm water dripping off him just as it was their new young seedling plants. The trailer was so small in comparison to any normal household environment, but then what was good enough for the flowers...

Toweling off his dark hair, Ken's mind held fast to that one word. _Normal._ When you were an assassin, when you killed another human being for pay, it was hard to find any normality in life. Maybe, in comparison to other assassins, Weiß was more normal than most others. At least, he hoped it was. Or should he hope it _wasn't_?

As he laid the towel around his shoulders at the nape of his neck, he looked at his arm, around the wrist which bore his lethal, heavy bladed bagh nakhs and leather gauntlet, to his hand. He flexed his hand, opening and closing it methodically, watching the scar tissue of some old wounds, and some newer ones, ripple taut across his muscles. He had many scars all over his body, more inside than out, but the one that always drew his attention was the fine lines around his left hand, where Yoji's garrote wire had severed right through his gauntlet, that time with Kaori and Akira Hibana. That scar drew his attention, as well as the scar left on his memory, and on his soul.

Ken smirked sadly. "Normal?"

Suddenly a definite _click_ broke through the silence of his soft word. It drew his attention up towards the ceiling where the small camera slipped out of its hiding and shed a river of light against the far wall, onto the waiting screen. In the corner, a small clock began a countdown - the countdown to the message.

Ken stared ahead at the screen in surprise, his dark brows drawn. "A mission?" he whispered aloud to himself. _Now?_

_

* * *

_

"Aya-kun?"

Omi was certain he wasn't going to get anything further out of the hardcore killer, whose lips remained in a firm line, sealed shut. Yoji shrugged his broad shoulders lazily. He knew Aya well enough, too, and wasn't stirred by his reluctance to talk. He was in the process of making smoke rings with his cigarette, in what Omi could only guess was his own procrastinating to begin work. The sounds of bare feet approaching alerted them all. Aya turned, leaning against the doorframe so the other two could see Ken - see the grave expression on his face.

With damp locks straggling into his eyes, bare chest with a towel around his neck, Ken said darkly, "Guys," and motioned with his somber eyes for them to come back inside.

Yoji made a confused sound, grinding out his cigarette and rising unhurriedly. Aya said nothing, merely followed Ken inside the van. With a sigh Yoji stood and Omi quickly shut the doors to the van; habit, he wasn't worried about that group of girls stealing them blind. _But,_ he thought with a profound new worry, _what could have Ken so upset?_

As soon as he walked through the door and had it closed, he found out.

"We have a mission," Aya announced, unmoved by the sudden event.

"A mission?" Omi asked, startled. "This early?"

Aya was already following Ken into the nursery, not paying any heed to Omi's query. Yoji on the other hand, was slightly chagrined. Making a hissing _tsk_ sound through his teeth, he hurriedly poured himself a cup of black coffee, which was only lukewarm thanks to Aya turning the pot off, and said, annoyed, "Persia could at least wait till everyone's had their breakfast." He clattered a heaping spoonful of sugar into the mug and made off, Omi at his heels.

05... 04... They all took their places about the screen, waiting. Curious. 03... 02... 00:00:01. The familiar silhouette filled the screen, the picture available only up to the man's mouth. The shadow with the name of their new target. What happened next shocked them all, except Aya did not show it.

"White Hunters, hunt the tomorrow of the Dark Beast."

There was an audible _beep_ of the transmission ending, and then a small red light in the corner began flashing. Omi was instantly on top of it, sliding out one of his portable laptop computers and lifting the screen to view. With a click, buzz and a whirl, it lit into life. Without loading, a transmission was instantly received, and the video fed into the connection from Kritiker.

"Weiß," the familiar voice greeted them, though there was a dismal tone in the greeting.

"Manx," Omi said, surprised, to the video feed.

"Hey Manx," Yoji piped in, "where's our computer-generated Persia?"

"We didn't have time to get ourselves together with this mission," came the unhesitating reply. "Apologies, but this comes straight from the top ranks."

"Eh?" Ken muttered, tilting his head at the screen. "Top ranks? What's going on, Manx? You look flustered."

The vibrant woman with the duo shocks of crimson hair finally smiled. She fingered the microphone piece around her mouth, but didn't lose a beat when she said, "Everyone at headquarters is in an upheaval. There's been an incident that hits close to home.

"Weiß, last night, Takeshi Yori, Vice President of Taro Minor Technologies -" an image of a burly man at some corporation luncheon flicked onto the screen, then quickly receded into a small corner of it, showing Manx again as she continued - "received a coded transmission over a secure line. His only son has been kidnapped. What follows is the voice transmission that was received."

There was a rolling sound of static, which didn't clear. Instead, it gave way to only more crackling sounds, and somewhere within the jumbled line of communication came a throaty, digital voice. "We have your son. No police. No force. We repeat, we have your son. If you want him back alive, wait." There was a rush of noise, discomforting (Omi, sitting closest to the speakers, winced slightly), then nothing but the sound of a dead link.

"What was that?" Yoji asked incredulously as Omi quickly withdrew his other laptop and began working on the coded sound file. "I hardly heard a ransom in there."

"No ransom was stated," Manx replied in agreement. "Yori was told to wait. We can assume from that this was only the first of what will be numerous communications."

"So you think," Yoji said, shaking his head in disbelief at the uncertainty of it all.

"How long ago was that first demand?" Ken asked.

Manx seemed to pause. "An hour. His father woke up this morning to find his son gone."

"What?" Ken said, slack-jawed. "How did you find out about it so fast?"

Yoji overrode his inquiry, asking, "How old is this kid?"

"Here are his stats and a recent picture." Manx's image disappeared to a round of files and a photograph. Her voice said, "Akira Yori is sixteen years old." The picture shown to them was one taken from a high school. He wore a typical black uniform of a private school, a rich man's son. He seemed fairly tall, which his stats told them he was, with black-brown eyes and ebony hair. Finely featured, a somewhat smarmy expression, nothing out of the ordinary for a Japanese school boy.

"Sixteen, huh?" Yoji said, as if that answered everything. "Are you sure he's not just some spoiled, rich brat playing a joke on papa with his friends? You remember being sixteen, don't you Manx?"

"I remember my parents worrying whenever I stayed out too late," Manx replied with some passion, "and Akira's father is devastated over this."

Uncertainty clutched at Omi's mind as he worked on the evidence provided. According to the boy's data, his mother had been dead for several years and his school records were clean. There didn't seem to be any real evidence to prove he was the rabble-rouser Yoji was hoping for. Omi could actually feel sorry for the kid, and judging by Ken's drawn expression, the boy-Weiß knew he felt the same.

"Manx?" Omi asked from his laptop. "This is heavy level encoding. It's difficult to even get a snippet of this guy's voice without the background scrambler. He's using some sort of major equipment. A professional?"

"We think so."

"More than one?" Ken asked.

"Kritiker doesn't seem to think that. We think it's someone working alone, judging by the time differences."

Ken put a hand up to his mouth, leaning slightly into his fist. "Could be struggling then," he mused thoughtfully.

"The boy's room was in disarray, but nothing was missing."

Ken sniffed. "Except the boy."

"The window was sealed, the doors to the Yori townhouse were still all locked up."

Omi blinked. "An inside job."

Manx nodded slightly. Suddenly, without warning, Aya's heavy voice broke the swirl of the moment and exchange of information. "Who's the target?"

"Eh?" Omi turned to look at Aya with a curious look, Yoji's eyes merely shifting in his general direction while Ken arched a brow. Manx looked stunned, but quickly regained herself. His simple question seemed so out of the moment. Leaning against the far wall, hidden in shadows, eyes closed as if in deep thought, Aya Fujimiya asked again, "Who's the target?"

On screen, Manx simply blinked as she studied Aya. Omi breathed hesitantly, "Aya-kun."

He opened his eyes, and the piercing gaze with which he studied Manx was almost feral. "Weiß is an assassin group, called upon to take a life of one of the Dark. Persia gives us a target, and we take out that target."

Broken down into simple facts as such made the entire mission one big confusion. And that seemed to dawn on the other members of Weiß. Ken looked at the screen and asked, "Do you know who kidnapped this boy?"

Manx looked somewhat unhappy with the progression of the mission, but there was something also undecidedly proud in her voice. "We think someone from Kritiker took the boy."

There came an exasperated chorus of _"WHAT?"_ from three of the four Weiß members.

"Move to secure channel." The video feed died in a swift moment. The system whirled again, rebooting, and Omi quickly opened the channel in a new interlink. No video this time; only Manx's voice echoed through the room. They now knew how serious things would be; tension grew in the tight space, so thick Aya could have cut it with his katana.

"For some time now, we have had troubled of leaks within Kritiker. That's why I need to discuss this on a channel secured even from other agents. There has been rumors of a new agency on the verge of taking over operations. Rumors for now. How long until the dog bares its fangs is unknown."

"So you think they're more than just rumors?" Yoji asked.

"No one can say for sure. But one leak is certain, and it needs to be plugged up."

"You think this leak kidnapped the boy to make good with your new unknown rumored agency?" said Yoji.

"Possibly."

"Why call on Weiß, or Kritiker for that matter, over this kid? What does he have to do with any of this?" Ken asked, staring at nothing in particular as he listened.

"Takeshi Yori," Manx informed them, "is the financial supporter and one of the heads of Kritiker." Omi and Ken shared a stunned look while Yoji shook his head. Aya's eyes became mere slits at this turning point. "Now you understand why he would call on Weiß to take out the kidnapper, and how I learned of the abducting so soon after. Contacting the police is out of the question until we know more about the kidnapper. Omi, I'm leaving that up to you for the moment. I will feed you information over a secure line as we learn more."

"Understood."

"We can't allow you access into Kritiker's files. Find him as you would any other target," she added, as if it would be an initiative for the assassins. "Yori funds Kritiker, he funds Weiß. To continue on as we have been, we need to nip this thing in the bud. Now. I'll be in touch."

"Manx." Aya asked before she closed the channel. "If the kidnapper is Kritiker, he knows the secrets. How long until he knows everything about Weiß?"

There was a heavy moment of silence. Foreboding. The gravity of the situation hit home and made things more desperate.

Her only reply was, "White Hunters of the Night. Hunt out the Darkness."

The transmission ended. Now, time was an issue.

* * *

There was silence in the room. Black. Lit only by laser lights forming a checker pattern across the floor. Black. A sound, like a heartbeat. The sound of silence. Black. Never ending, yet occasionally broken by the dead clack of computer keys. A dark room, seemingly without entrance or exit, nowhere but headquarters.

Black. Schwarz.

The door behind the computer terminal opened, spilling outside light into the dark room. "Hey, boss wants a status report before long," said the exuberant, distinctive voice. The tall German with the chaotic shock of carrot-colored locks was framed in the doorway. His shadow, as unique as him, fell across the face of the computer and the young Japanese boy working on it.

Nagi Naoe said nothing, but on occasion would tap a few keys without much thought. His large, liquid blue eyes fixed on the screen, were void of emotion or response. A series of encrypted lines of numbers scrolled before his eyes at a fast rate, yet he seemed to be reading every line of text and every set of numbers. He'd pick one or two out, leaving the rest untouched. In the corner of the screen was a moving bar, a clock, and it was counting down. Nagi seemed to pay it no mind as he continued his work. The clock was reaching zero time left.

"_Hayaku_," said Schuldig teasingly, drawing the word out in a cooing sound as if to cause tension in the younger boy. Of course it had no effect as Nagi made no effort to hurry. He moved like a leopard into the room, smooth, soundless, to stand behind Nagi's chair.

Clack. Clack. ACCESS BREACHED! Files found. Clack. Uploaded. Clack. Clack. Clack.

"Done," Nagi announced. When he spoke it was soft and emotionless. A word. Nothing more.

Time: 0

"Cutting it close there," the German said, with his typical unscathed Cheshire Cat grin. He leaned over Nagi's shoulder and gave that grin to the screen. "Australian International Bank funds breached, heh?"

"Money to be transferred by wire, small funds at a time, into an unknown account, set up at Crawford's disposal," Nagi said.

"Who the hell needs to work?" Schuldig laughed. He straightened and said with his usual dark mirth, "God, I love Schwarz!"

"I presume everything went as a success then?" said a baritone voice at the door as outside light was suddenly cut off.

Nagi closed his eyes and said, without turning to the man, "I was in and out. No trace. Nothing. Clean job, Crawford."

"Schuldig didn't interfere with your work?"

Schuldig made a whiny sound, half sardonic and half growl, and said, "I would never." The tilt of his head was in mock innocence for the man named guilty. "Who do you want to play with next?" he asked as the other strode into the room. Schuldig folded his arms over his chest expectantly.

"Next?" Crawford said, amusement creeping into his voice. "I would think we're pretty much set for the next century, wouldn't you?"

"One can never have too much -"

The scrape of Nagi's chair echoed shrilly off the walls as the boy pulled back from the computer terminal. The other two men turned to look; Schuldig's arms fell as he made a surprised sound. They could only stare at the screen in a unified confusion. There, on the screen as Nagi closed the browser he was working from, was a black screen with nothing but a large white cross in the center.

"What did you do, Nagi?" Schuldig finally said accusingly. His eyes were caught on the image of the white cross. A fire burned behind them. Fires of anger. "If that's your idea of a joke, it's not funny."

Nagi made no response, but suddenly, the email files opened. An announcement of new email was there to greet them. Without touching the mouse or a single key, Nagi Naoe opened the files with nothing more than a thought. The new mail opened to a message in simple code. Decoded, the message that was scrawled across the screen was startling, to say the least.

_Message. Boy kidnapped is at the abandoned warehouse of Taro. Begin the mission on Wednesday, dusk. Message ended._

"Is this -?" Schuldig said, his voice a thick growl.

"Weiß," said Nagi.

Schuldig arched a brow. "Did you intercept their transfers?" Nagi just glanced at him in a negative way. "What a stroke of luck, to have one of their missions fall into our laps like this." His voice was unsure.

"It can't be for real," said Nagi easily. "Nothing is that simple. Are we going to bet on luck?"

"No," said Crawford. The two Schwarz members turned to look at the American. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be concentrating on something only he could see. When he finally opened his eyes, lenses of his glasses reflecting dull light, he wore a vague smile. "They'll be there."

"Our boss is viewing the future again," Schuldig said, only half sarcastically, his hearty grin returning. "If you say so, then this may be our big opportunity."

"Kidnapped boy?" Nagi mused quietly.

"Their targets are of no concern of ours," said Brad Crawford. "However, I think Schuldig is correct." He bared his teeth in a lupine smile, villainous and excited. "This may be a good chance for a reunion."

"To hell with reunion," Schuldig spat. His hand balled into a fist. "I'm taking my time on them. My revenge -"

"Do you suppose Weiß could be sending this message to us?" Nagi asked, unconcerned either way. "A trap?"

Crawford sniffed. "I've never known Weiß to give anyone a head's up. If we were their target, we'd be the last to know about it. I don't see this as a trap."

"But who would -?"

"Weiß..."

The soft, purring tone of Farfarello came from somewhere within the darkness. None of them had been aware that the Irishman was even anywhere in the room. Looking hard enough, one could almost see the glowing, solitary amber eye; it shone with a lust and an excitement that went beyond sanity.

He smiled. "Finally."


	2. Zwei

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Zwei (Two)

"Yes!" Omi's exclamation echoed off the bookcases in the library with a hollow tremor.

"SHHH!" several students and a librarian hissed at him simultaneously.

Omi shrunk into his chair with a plaintive look. "S-sorry," he whispered.

He returned his gaze back to his personal laptop. Unbeknown to those around him, he was working on unsplicing complicated sound files without sound. Keeping it on mute was best for everyone, best for him, best for the school, and especially best for Weiß. They had problems enough at the moment.

At his side, his school notes and books sat disregarded. His mind couldn't concentrate at all on simple homework, but he was glad he had brought his "other" work; he was making great progress.

_This sound system is good, however,_ he thought with satisfaction to himself, _I just might be better._

Fine brows knit together in determination, Omi set a finger to his mouse glide pad. There were a multitude of sound patterns at work in the brief voice clip. Even the static seemed well placed, as if it were purposefully put there. Intentional. Not just shoddy equipment or the change of voices. Whoever did this made a masterpiece of confusion. And it was working wonders; they had received the mission two days ago, and neither they nor Manx had contacted the other again with an update. It wasn't looking good for young Akira.

Omi took out his headset and hooked it into the sound drive of his computer. Mute: Off. There was a rush of garbled noise through the headphones. At this point he knew every hiss and whirr by heart, and now that he knew they were separate, on purpose, all that was left to do was to separate them. His fingers flew across the keys. Discern the voice, and find the kidnapper. He could do this. He _had_ to.

It took him a good ten minutes or so, but finally he had the static at a low decimal; it was in two parts. Real static, and a recording. It really was a jumbled mess, but then again, that was exactly what the kidnapper was going for. He was going to a lot of trouble to make sure his voice was hidden. Or was he trying to hide something else?

Omi listened closely. Nothing in the background was very distinguishable. Once he thought he heard what could have been a car driving by at a distance, but then being along a road or highway wasn't going to be of much help. Where _wasn't_ near a road or highway? He put a finger against one headphone, pressing the sound closer to his ear. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_Come on. Give me a hint._ The message ended, and now played nothing but churning silence. Omi sighed, disappointed, letting it play out.

_Shhhhttt ... shhh-click ...shhhbiddanshh …_

Omi's eyes flew open. He heard it. He heard that sound, under the static and recorded clicks. It sounded almost like a - Could it be? It sounded almost like a word. Quickly he stopped the file, took it back and pumped the volume up as far as it would go on the selected wave.

It was resonant in the high volume, vibrating through his ears, but so far nothing but static ticking and shushing. What was it? It sounded like the same changed voice, but quieter. What did it say? Bid? Bandon?

_SHHH-CLICK ... SHHHAbandonedSHH ... warehouseSHHH._ Abandoned warehouse? It couldn't be. A clue? The kidnapper was taunting them? No, he was taunting Akira's father. After all, no one knew an assassin group would be called in. It was too strange, and not to have asked for a ransom of any kind made it almost unbelievable.

A sudden tap on his shoulder made Omi jerk back. He snatched his phones from his ears with haste and turned to look at whoever was trying to get his attention. With an apologetic smile, he chirped, "Huh?"

"Study period is over, Omi," said one of his classmates, shrugging her carry case over her shoulder. "Were you listening to music instead of studying? Naughty!" She winked at him with a giggle.

Omi looked over to the clock; he hadn't even heard the bell. Nodding, he began to quickly stow away his things and stuff them into his backpack. Two classes left. He thought about skipping them to tell the others, but then they were probably busy as well and wouldn't be expecting him. Better to finish out his studies, he thought. It was a difficult decision, especially to think that Akira was missing another day of school.

* * *

Yoji whistled long and low, pulling down his shades to get a fuller view of the Taro Minor Technologies Corporate building from inside Aya's car. "_Sswweeet!_" he breathed. "Now that's a big building! Papa must definitely be well off. Just the right type of person to snatch his kid."

In the driver's side, Aya made no response as he sat, still buckled in, with one elbow propped against the window sill and chin resting against the butt of his palm. His purple gaze watched every inch of the massive skyscraper across the street, taking in every man and woman leaving and entering the building, as well as those pedestrians that seemed to dawdle with reason. Yoji wasn't being too much help, but then he had thought staking out the building was a waste of time.

"Kritiker is what needs surveillance!" he had said. For now, though, they would have to leave that to Manx.

Aya's attention lingered to a dead autumn leaf which had fallen from the tree beside the car, spiraling down until it came to rest on the windshield. It was shriveled and brown, full of open holes where insects had gotten to it during its prime. It slid further down to get stuck under the wipers, and it was then Aya noticed the black sedan pull up behind them.

His eyes narrowed as he watched it in his rearview mirror. He watched as a man got out of the car and went to the building's entrance. Same make and model as the other car from before, at the shop.

"A company car," Yoji said, showing he had been alert to everything despite his lazy appearance; so attentive he even noticed Aya's direction of sight. "Most businesses give plain old black cars, especially to the underdogs. Pretty cheap for a company that makes this much."

"Did you get a hold of the finance reports?" Aya asked.

"Ken should be doing that," Yoji said, lifting out a cigarette. He stuck it in his mouth and caught Aya's disapproving glare. He grinned. "Don't worry. I won't light it," he replied, knowing how much Aya disliked smoking in his car. Suddenly someone caught his eye. "_Oi_, Aya," he said, his voice low. "Isn't that the boy's father?"

Aya turned to look. He merely nodded. It was indeed the same man they had seen in the photographs. He came out with two other men and a woman. Secretary and bodyguards? They were leaving the premises, but escorted with all those lackeys, he obviously was attending to a normal business function. By the outward appearance, the man held up well under pressure. One would never tell by the mere looks of him something so devastating was happening at home.

Yoji was thinking the same thing, but perhaps under a different light. "Pretty cold of him to be handling business like usual while his son's life is in danger. He doesn't look the least bit worried. Makes you wonder how much he really cares about this."

"Some men handle situations differently."

"I suppose. Your father was a businessman, so I guess you would know."

Despite the touchy subject, Aya never missed a beat in responding. "My father was a banker, but he didn't live for his work. Family was very important to him above everything else."

"Then more to my point," Yoji said, something dark in his tone. "Man, makes you wonder if this boy's really a missing person!"

"Yoji."

"Huh?"

"Look there." Aya motioned with the turn of his head to a woman leaving the building, a professional woman in a suit with a short skirt and auburn hair pinned back into a bun. The bangs, caught in the brisk autumn breeze, were white. Tucked under her arm was a briefcase, declaring her an obvious member of the staff.

Yoji whistled again, a cat call, and suddenly elbowed Aya in the ribs. "I knew you had it in you, Aya! Somewhere inside that icy guy!" He laughed.

One red brow flicked up as his fellow Weiß member tested the extent of his tolerance. "Flake," he said low under his breath. Louder he said, "Doesn't she look at all familiar to you?"

"Well, certainly someone I'd like to know, but -" The light bulb flared, illuminating the cheerfulness away. "It couldn't be?"

It _was_ her. The same woman from the flower shop who had been asking Omi about the business. Yoji shook his head at the sudden strange turn. "The plot," he announced, "thickens. What should we do?"

Aya replied, reaching for the keys still in the ignition, "Follow her."

Yoji gave a slanted grin. "Gotcha." Aya knew this was the kind of work he enjoyed.

* * *

Ken let out an exasperated, heavy sigh, scanning over the legal documents in his hand. It was like trying to do tax returns, just a lot of dry text which seemed to be one huge run-on sentence. _I should have waited and made Omi do this,_ he thought blandly. The younger Weiß always had a knack for figures and computers. In any case, he had to hurry. Sooner or later one of the employees of Taro Minor would figure out that he wasn't part of the staff, and then they'd set his face to memory for security, and that just wasn't good.

However, so far all the work for the company seemed to be in order, the same old legal prattle one would expect to find. The secretary he'd spoken to had been pretty helpful, not at all suspicious after he had displayed his phony company card and ID from the account firm. It was all thanks to Yoji's phone calls and Omi's gift with computer graphics. Not to mention, Ken's ability to charm anyone with his boy-next-door good looks and genuine smile. Of course, that smile was sure _not_ to work on office security.

_Better start packing it up,_ he thought with some disappointment. At this rate, they weren't going to be able to find the target. Or save Akira.

Ken was about to call it quits when he haphazardly flipped through one of the last files. There were a lot of numbers in the file, tax write-offs and such. But his interest was piqued by some attorney notes. Something about a suspicious fire, a case that was dismissed as hearsay. That was pretty intriguing. Other than that, the company had had no legal troubles whatsoever. It apparently hadn't become a problem, lucky for Yori. But the warehouse the fire had all but destroyed was now left abandoned, never to be rebuilt. No doubt, one day left for demolition. _Abandoned warehouse, huh?_

The kidnapper was a member of Kritiker, possibly. But it was also an inside job, possibly. A member of the staff? They would, all of them, undoubtedly know about the fire. It may only be a dead end, but, Ken thought, it was worth a shot.

Quickly he took out a small hand-held device, part camera and part scanner, and made a digital copy of the documents. Thank goodness for Omi's ingenious toys. There were a few pictures, but no maps of the warehouse. The address was good enough to find it, though.

He left the corporation casually, but as soon as he got outside, he loosened the elegant tie he'd borrowed from Yoji to complete his businessman's look. Taking the jacket off, Ken wrapped the sleeves around his waist and tied them, not caring it would definitely crease the hell out of the garment. Finally rolling up the cuffs of his dress shirt, he neared his parked motorcycle. It wasn't until he threw one leg over the bike that he noticed something.

Aya and Yoji had left? That was curious. He wondered what could be up with those two. He shrugged it off; they knew what they were doing. He'd have to wait until later to find out. Right now he had his mind made up to check out the abandoned warehouse. It seemed a little cliché, but sometimes the old theories were the best. After all, sometimes the butler _did_ do it.

He started to put on his helmet when his cell phone vibrated against his hip. He sucked in his breath with a jumpy curse, momentarily panicked at its sudden life. He pulled the palm-sized cellular out of his pocket quickly, thinking it might be Aya or Yoji. "Hello?"

"Ken-kun."

"Omi? Where are you?"

"I'm just getting out of classes," he informed him. Ken could hear the hum of his motorbike in the background, the faint noise of the highway. So Omi was on his headset. "Ken-kun, you've gotta hear this!"

"What's up?"

Suddenly a blaring rush of sound blasted into his ear, and Ken nearly toppled himself and his bike over with the shock from being bombarded with noise. A few pedestrians glanced his way, but as usual quickly paid no heed to the doings of others. Ken, however, was partly deaf for the time being. He could have warned him first!

"Omi!" he growled into the phone, finally braving to put it back to his ear, now that he knew what to expect. "Omi, what -"

Then he heard it, too. _Abandoned warehouse._ It couldn't be?

The recording stopped. "Ken-kun, did you hear it?" Everything was suddenly coming into play. It seemed a little out of the ordinary, but then... "Ken-kun?"

"Omi," Ken said in a serious, sure tone. He was positive now. "Meet me at this address..."

* * *

"You're gonna lose her."

Aya made no reply to Yoji's worried tone. They had left the major highway behind and were now driving at a decent speed down some stretch of road that had once, sometime ago, seen a lot of traffic. It was the old business district of the city, now mostly small shops and apartments for rent. The suspicious woman had gotten into a black company sedan and driven off, heedless to the fact she was being followed. And that was how Aya wanted to keep it, so despite Yoji's unsure opinions, Aya was staying a good deal behind her, even slowing to allow other drivers ahead.

She definitely knew where she was going, and she was in a hurry to get there. They cruised under a train overpass when she made a quick left into the gravel and ditch-plagued lot, which led to what was once the back area of an old business. The parking arena was overrun with weeds and dead brush, littered with a few years of trash and junk scraps, even a rusted oil tanker and the shell of an ancient car.

The huge building itself, set in three sections of the area, was gutted and empty; most of the windows had been broken out and the roof in one section had caved in. The outer walls were stained and gray, ash trails painted the sides. A fire had ravaged this place. It was a desolate sight, dismal and lonely. It seemed like it had been left vacant for centuries, but there were probably homeless people living out of what appeared once to have been a prime factory.

"Why would she be going there?" Yoji wondered aloud. "Do you suppose -?" He didn't have to ask. They were both thinking the same thought.

Aya drove on by the cluttered back entrance, driving at a normal speed to keep from any suspicions. However, if this was what it seemed, then she'd be foolish indeed not to be on her guard. The entirety of the lot was fenced off with barbed-wire lattice that must have been a good ten feet high, but it was bent from serious damage in more than one spot, and along the road it was totally smashed in; it looked as if there had been an accident, where an unfortunate driver had wrecked it. Years of lonely abuse left it a breeding ground for those lowest of the Dark. The main entrance was open, and the front gate leaned in, the heavy locks, thick chains, and multitude of "Keep Out" and "Private Property" signs were no use against the most determined trespasser. Aya left the property behind, only to pull the car up a few miles away, where they could view most of the crumbled site.

"Private Property?" Yoji mused thoughtfully. "So it's still owned. You'd think it would have been set to be demolished."

"It can be held for tax-write offs and insurance if it were discovered the fire was of natural causes," said Aya straight-forwardly, as was his nature.

"Who do you think is the owner?"

"Taro Minor."

The familiar voice startled Yoji, who jumped so hard his head knocked the back of his seat, sending his glasses practically off his face. "Dammit, Ken!" He said breathlessly. He heaved a slow, steady breath out, seeking to calm his nerves and collect his scattered wits as he adjusted his shades back onto his nose. Aya tilted his head thoughtfully.

Ken, with Omi at his heels, appeared almost out of nowhere beside Aya's car. Both of them wore expressions entirely too grave and hard for ones so young. Ken said again, "It's a Taro Minor plant, owned by Takeshi Yori."

Yoji asked, as Aya and he got out of the car to join their fellow teammates, "How the hell did you get here?"

"I found the documents about the fire and legal actions taken afterwards," Ken said, as if it were now old news. "And Omi unearthed something pretty fascinating on the kidnapper's recording."

"We left our bikes in the thicket behind the property," Omi informed them, turning to gaze at the rotted business. "We were surveying the property when a car pulled up to where the office used to be." Omi looked at his feet, sheepishly. "Did you follow her?"

He looked at Aya, and his eyes were large and round, an apologetic light in them. He remembered her, too. And he remembered how careless he had been about talking to her, much to Aya's displeasure. He felt like somehow it all came down to rest on his shoulders, as if he were to blame.

"You couldn't have known," Ken said gently; obviously he had been informed of the situation.

Omi didn't respond; it was Aya from whom he wanted the reassurance, but as usual Aya would never say any words to make the boy feel better. Sometimes Omi preferred it like that; it meant he would have to deal with it himself, and have a chance to become stronger on his own. Aya, strict and firm, could be a support just by his presence. That was how his friendship lent itself to the group.

Yoji folded his arms across his chest. "This sure is strange. But, now, it's for certain."

It wasn't a question. The four Weiß members turned to look at the empty property, wasted and torn, where somewhere inside, their target waited. Was she waiting for them? A possibility at this point in the game. Whatever led them all to this one place - luck, chance, coincidence, or a thoroughly devised plot - they would be ready for it. And they would find Akira.

"You said she went into the office?" Aya asked. Ken made a sound of affirmation. "The office lounge," mused the redheaded Weiß. "That's the best place to hold someone, especially a young boy."

"Then it's set," said Ken.

Omi said, eyes on the building, "Tomorrow evening."

"Right! And we'll be here with a bang!" Yoji grinned and lit a cigarette.

Aya, tall and resolute, said darkly, "It ends." And they'd learn everything.


	3. Drei

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Drei (Three)

Wednesday. The day had started out as a brilliant fall day, the sun had been warm against the chilled air. Gentle breezes had wafted through the frail looking trees, sending a fiery mixture of colored leaves cascading in whirlwinds around the earth. Children had laughed and played in the park after school, and business had been good. But now...

Dusk was on the verge of settling in, and with it cold winds began to blow as dark thunderheads started to slowly tumble and churn in from the east. The ominous clouds swept in like tidal waves off the sea, the whipping winds heralding the approach of a big seasonal storm. To move to the west would be to follow the fading light, but Weiß sought out the darkness to come. Their plan was set.

The White Hunters met at the entrance to the old warehouse, standing as four by the decrepit gate, dressed in the garb of those seeking prey. They were alert, armed, ready. They also were not at all stunned to find a single light on inside the warehouse, a candle burning in the eastside wing. No one exchanged words, wished the other well. There was never a need. The mission had been given. Each member of Weiß now became a force to be reckoned with. Who would start the mission?

They parted ways wordlessly. Yoji covered the rear exit, where the office woman always came through. He'd make sure she would never leave. He also had their backs. Aya went towards the eastside wing, out of the darkness, as if drawn to that solitary light. He had the target in his sights; she had to be the one who waited there. Ken and Omi proceeded straight onwards to the office. To save Akira. Undercover of the approaching night, with the depths of the pounding storm rolling in behind them, they moved on.

The mission had begun.

Shrunk against the wall, Ken and Omi moved quickly and silently around the building. They weren't going in the main entrance. Using the pictures of the buildings that Ken had managed to scan from the court documents, they discovered that the office, badly burned out by the fire, had three separate rooms: the lobby through the door, the main office, and a secretary's small cubicle office right beyond the lobby. The main had been totally gutted, no chance for hiding someone there. They decided Akira would be held in the assistant's office. They could access it through the heating duct for a surprise entrance. Omi was small enough to do such a task. At his signal, Ken would storm the lobby.

"Here it is," whispered Ken, stopping in the black shadows of the building around the corner from the entrance.

Above them, where the wall had collapsed in, Omi could squeeze into the frame and gain access to the duct with a panel that would open somewhere (they weren't sure where) into the smaller room. Ken turned to Omi and crouched down, interlocking his fingers and offering his hands as a foothold and his knee as a boost up. Omi took it swiftly, on the job.

The Weiß boy leaped off Ken's knee. Using the support of Ken's arms tossing him up, Omi caught the side of the building. He squirmed just enough to pull his lithe, small body up, making sure not to kick Ken in the head behind him. He slid on his stomach across the beam. All he could do was pray it was stable enough to handle his light weight. Suddenly, he heard Ken softly call his name. Omi lifted himself to his knees and leaned back against his heels to look at his friend behind him.

"Be careful," Ken said, worry too plain in his dark blue-green eyes.

Omi smiled, sweet and innocent. "Leave it to me," he replied.

He heard Ken say, "I'll be right out here."

Omi knew he would have said _If you need me,_ but there was never a need to voice such encouragement. They were all the same, capable and good at what they did. They were Hunters, skilled killers who protected those of the light. Omi would get the job done, or die trying. And he wasn't the only one.

* * *

Ken watched Omi struggle slightly as he slipped into the broken down corporate building. Soon the boy was swallowed up by the sheer blackness inside. His trained ears heard the _tick-click!_ as Omi found the heating system and unscrewed the hinges. He was in.

Now Ken could only wait. He wanted to be patient, but it was hard to keep his claws sheathed. Damn, he had a bad feeling about this! Was it just worry over Omi and the others? It was hard to breathe right.

_Omi, take care…_

_

* * *

_

Inside, Omi used his elbows to crawl through the duct. It was caked in layers of dust, which helped to stifle any sound he made, but it also made visibility dismal and hard to get air. Curtains of cobwebs shifted in the breeze from outside, sticking in his hair and snagging his clothes. His nose tingled slightly; he could still smell the remnants of the blaze, the heavy soot and dark charred ashes, but his thoughts were only on the work at hand. He was fully prepared, and his nerves were fine. He could handle this! _I just -_ he cursed himself for even thinking it, _I hope we're not too late. _

A quick right, a slight scare as the duct heaved a groan under his weight, and Omi saw the patch of horribly frail light up ahead. The opening was underneath him, the grate peering down from the ceiling onto the small office. Instantly, he pulled down the goggles from his head, readily equipped with heat-sensitive, night vision lenses. He tuned the frequency. Now, to see if anyone was waiting for them.

Omi squinted. Even with the night vision it was difficult to pinpoint people. The heat sources were his only clue, and they worked extremely well in a building that hadn't had heat in a few years. He saw no one via the infrared. He undid the hinges to the shaft's grate as he looked on. A quick scan showed something right below him, a hunched form tied to a chair. There he was! _Please still be alive!_ Now was the time.

The grate gave under his swift, slamming fist. Holding the rim of the duct with one hand, he slid through in an acrobatic twist. Omi released his grip as his legs swung free, his crossbow held aptly in the other hand.

And as soon as his feet hit the floor beside the chair, he released the lock and the bow snapped open, bolt ready. Omi was instantly on his knees and aiming, point checking every corner with the tip of his arrow for an enemy. Nothing with the heat source. Nothing with his night vision. He let out the breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding.

He lifted the goggles to rest at the top of his head as he trained his crossbow to the ceiling, out of harm's way. He turned to his side, smiling at the figure in the chair. The smile faded as he realized the person made no response to his sudden appearance, made no motion at all. Omi jumped to the boy's rescue.

"Akira-san?" He pulled the chair around to get a look at the boy's face, what had been done to him.

Then gasped loudly at the revelation. Omi's eyes went full and round in horror. It felt as if his heart had stopped; his mind was spinning. It couldn't be... _Damn_...

In the chair sat an oversized stuffed doll, its face painted like some demonic clown. It was smiling at him, staring at him with empty, black bead eyes. And it wasn't tied to the chair with ropes or chains. It was held there, tied down, with wires from an active bomb, sticks of dynamite and a computerized clock strapped to its frilly-lace chest with polka-dotted overalls. The clock was counting down. 30 minutes...

"Dammit," Omi whispered the curse, more in shock than anger or fear.

It was a trap.

Across the doll's forehead, written in thick, red paint was one German word: _Betrüger_.

Deceiver.

* * *

Yoji saw it instantly. A car parked just inside the rear exit. It was a black car similar to the one the woman had been driving before, the Taro Minor company car. Similar, but this one was different. It was sleeker, well polished, almost sporty in appearance. This car was maintained at peak performance to show it was expensive. What was going on? Was that girl here with someone else? It could be bad for them.

Cautiously, Yoji moved without a sound around to the oil tanker, slipping behind it for cover, just in case. Overhead, the skies gave a hushed grumble. The Gods on high were getting more angry; the storm would be unleashed soon. _Wonderful evening for a mission!_ Yoji thought with only vague sarcasm.

He could see no one inside the car. _Alright then._

He moved quickly over to the vehicle, his arm outstretched, his garrote wire ready for any target he desired. His long coat furled about his ankles, the red cross over his back all but invisible in the growing dark, as he sidled up to the snazzy black car. He moved up to the passenger's side door and tried the handle. The door was unlocked and opened easily. No one was inside. It was gorgeous leather interior, an off-ebony shade, and fully loaded systems. Yoji made an approving face.

However, serious Balinese noticed the spotless dashboard, and the lack of personality to the car. He moved to check the glove compartment, but found nothing. The car was kept clean on purpose; there was sure to be no evidence as to whom its owners were. Almost, he thought, like a car he would keep.

At that thought, something horrendous popped into his mind, and Yoji was quickly on the look-out. He hurriedly did a check of the yard. In the distance, drawing ever nearer by the moment, lightning illuminated the belly of the clouds. Any minute it would spill down from the heavens to the earth below. Hard rain would follow. And suddenly, his eyes wide as he saw it, they had a crisis on their hands.

Parked, waiting not too far from the other car, was a superior, red sports car. It was a car he was certain he'd seen somewhere before. And, Yoji thought with much distaste and alarm, he was certain he knew who it belonged to.

Then he heard Omi's cry.

* * *

Ken felt his heart skip a beat as he heard Omi cry out in distress. It was a quick cry, startled, bewildered. Something was seriously wrong. He was afraid to learn the truth of what was going on, but panic drove him to his partner. Ken bolted around the side of the building, flinging open the cracked, ruined door to the office lobby. All he could think about was Bombay in trouble.

"Omi?"

"Ken-kun - WAIT!"

With a jerk and a heavy sound torn from his lips in dismay, Ken, with an effort, stopped just outside the door, clawed hand still clutching the handle. Omi was crouched down on one knee, and Ken had the gut-wrenching feeling he was hurt. At the same time, his sense of survival snapped alive, and he quickly searched the rooms beyond with his gaze. Nothing. No one. Ken looked back to Omi through the straightaway into the assistant's office.

"Omi?" He was so worried. He wanted the boy to say something to him, to let him know he was all right.

"Ken-kun..." The soft voice was shaking slightly. _Dammit!_ Why wouldn't he tell him what was wrong! Then he didn't have to. Ken saw what Omi was kneeling by. At first his heart sunk, because he thought he was gazing at Akira's body, that the boy had been killed and dead all these days. Then he saw the flashing red numbers. The countdown.

"Oh, my God," he breathed almost voicelessly. The answer was clear as he saw the clock and the fake person with the message scrolled across it. They'd been set-up. Suddenly he snapped back into his wits, and his voice was demanding as he called to the other Weiß. "Omi, get out of there!"

"I can't."

"What do you mean, _you can't_? Omi!"

Omi looked at him finally, and there was fear in his glassy eyes. They shined, even in the pale light of the storm. "Ken-kun," he said nervously. He pulled down his night vision goggles after that, and Ken saw his eyes were locked on the floor in the lobby. Infrared. "There's a laser system out there. If I go through there, or you had run in, you would have triggered it, and-" his tone was getting breathy. "-the bomb would have gone off instantly." He looked back up at Ken. "They were waiting for us to come through that door."

"Bastards!" Ken spat violently through his gritted teeth. _How could they have known?_ His head felt like it was reeling. It wasn't panic or anger. It was worry, the fear of losing Omi. He asked, the clock ticking past 28 minutes, "Can you get back out the way you got in?"

"The hatch is in the ceiling," he replied. "I can't reach it."

"Use the chair," Ken stated without reasoning.

"I can't move it. I may set it off, and-" Omi swallowed hard. "I think it may be a series. The entire property may be rigged to this main device. I don't want... everyone..." He looked at Ken, sharing his gaze. The boy's was firm, his tone serious. "Ken-kun, warn the others! Get away!"

Ken lips part wordlessly. Disbelief. Anger. How could he ask him that? The selfless little - He should know better, after all they've been through together, all four of them. Never. "Never! Omi, I'm not leaving you here like this!"

"But Akira-san is still -"

_"I'm not leaving you!" _

Omi made a surprised sound, a defeated tone. "Ken-kun…" If he wouldn't leave, if he wouldn't tell the others, warn them the whole building was about to blow, then that left only one option.

Omi quickly unfastened one of the cases around his arm. Darts were nuzzled into the front, resting on the top of his arm ready for use, but he undid the string and flung open the case. Inside, he had a multitude of small gadgets. He took out his Swiss Army knife, on it a small pair of wire cutters, and lifted his goggles off his eyes. Ken watched, slightly baffled.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to try to unarm it."

Ken asked, briefly astonished, "Do you know how?"

Omi hesitated with his answer. He was a computer genius, a quick learner, but... "Wish me luck."

* * *

In the burned remains of the eastside wing, Aya stood fully in the doorway to the main room; no need to hide. This section of the property had been scorched pretty badly, the walls true black, and not much held up to the flames but the skeletal frame of the building. The light from the candle, which sat on a desk at the far wall, caused eerie shadows to dance and whirl around the room, shifting madly by the winds from the shattered windows. The chaotic light did little to alleviate the growing blackness. Outside, the sky grumbled. Closer. Everything was coming closer.

He saw a tall figure standing at the desk, his back to Aya. It was not at all the woman from before. Aya's senses were on alert, expecting the worst. But the figure made no move. Did they even know he was there? Silently, the whisper-soft hush of steel against leather, he drew out his katana, the blade catching the only available light to shine with its lethal grace. He let the sheath go to swing back under the folds of his white trench coat, held by the strap across his chest underneath. He brought the sword's point up. The target was in sight.

His voice was rage, seductive and deep. "Darkness. Die!"

As Aya charged the person, ready to strike him down, the first bolt of lightning seared the sky outside with a crashing rumble that shook the building. In the intensified light of the heavens, even though instantaneous, Aya saw the truth. For it only took an instant to see that the man wasn't tall, he was hanging from the ceiling. A noose around his neck. He was already dead.

Aya stopped mid-stride and fell back a step, his eyes gone cold. A trap. He had fallen into a trap.

Always ready for anything, Aya took this current situation in stride, perhaps only off by a mere beat. He moved to the man's body, turned it so the corpse swung to face him. His violet eyes widened. Pinned to the stranger's lapel was a name tag, a name he had never heard of before. There was no company name, but a bar code. Aya didn't need to be told that this man was a Kritiker agent. But across his forehead, cut into his skin, was a word crusted in blood, in German. Betrüger.

What could it mean? Aya stared at the body curiously, ripping off the tag and keeping it hidden under the folds of his coat. There were too many questions...

The woman wasn't there. Or was she waiting for him somewhere else? Had the true target gotten away? Suddenly, another white light pierced down from the sky, and Aya heard the voice underneath it. The familiar, deep voice, a voice of someone he had fought numerous times in the past.

"We meet again. Weiß."


	4. Vier

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Vier (Four)

Omi wiped sweat from his forehead, keeping it from dripping into his eyes. All he needed was blurry vision on top of everything else. One jerking move, one false cut, and -

And it was all over. Easing out a breath, Omi took the thin, blue wire between his clippers. No! He would _not_ die like this, not here like this. And he would never allow the others to die, either.

_Snap!_

He heard Ken's hissing intake of breath even from the distance; it matched his own. Eyes round, Omi felt his body tense, fighting the urge to seek shelter, even as his mind knew it was impossible. He unconsciously let out a small squeak of a sound as his throat constricted. The numbers jumped. They flickered, but nothing happened. No explosion. And no stalling.

Suppressing the urge to consent defeat, Omi, his expression set in a firm, hard gaze, set back to work. Time wasn't up yet.

* * *

Ken growled a curse through his painfully ground teeth. This wasn't looking good for any of them. _Why do we always do these things the bloody hard way? Come on, Omi! _

He had faith in Bombay, but he also knew explosives were not his specialty; what he knew wasn't from experience. Suddenly, he heard the snap of a wire being clipped and sucked in his breath. But nothing happened. Not failure, not success.

_We're not gonna make it…_ The realization surprised Ken. And angered him. It was anger about the situation, and about facing the end of his own life. He was scared; he could admit that. It wasn't easy to see your own demise coming, to wait for it. This wasn't for show or a rehearsal. It was real. If it happened, there would be no next time or tomorrow. They would really die. Like Kase, Akira, and all those men and women he had helped put in their graves.

Yes, he was scared and angry, but it was for Omi. For Aya and Yoji. He didn't want them to die! It wasn't any consolation he would go with them either. He always hoped, always wanted, to die alone. The others didn't deserve this, and he was afraid for them.

Ken began shifting his feet uncontrollably, one after the other. Then he started flexing his claws, nervous. His eyes were fixed on Omi, until he found the strain of watching the young boy hopelessly keep at it too painful. He turned away, feeling his mind whirling, panic clutching at his chest until he couldn't breathe. He closed his eyes. _Dammit!_ And when he opened them, he saw Aya coming from the eastside of the building, cloaked in the impeding darkness.

Ken was ready to leap into action. "Aya?" Was he successful? Did he actually find a target somewhere in all this mess? He was too much in a panic to notice how slowly Aya seemed to be moving, how precise his footfalls were. "We have to get Omi out of there! There's -"

He recoiled backwards a step. A surprised gasp escaped his lips as a sudden spark of lightning licked the rolling clouds above, illuminating the earth below for a moment. In that moment, Ken saw Aya quite clearly, and also the shapes of four other men behind him. _Who in the hell?_ He could see Aya was weaponless, but even more disturbing, he saw Aya's own katana in the enemy's hand.

"Well, well, well," snickered a slightly nasal-sounding voice, happily ferocious. "Isn't this quite a predicament?"

"It seems we've caught you red-handed," said another, a confident baritone voice that was smooth as silk.

The other two present said nothing, and they didn't have to for Ken to know immediately who they were. Schwarz. His lip curled back from his teeth in a very predator-like way as he growled, "You?" He couldn't believe they had fallen into a trap set by these damnable guys!

"So you're into hangings now, eh?" Schuldig chuckled, thoroughly amused.

Ken had no clue what Schwarz was talking about, and he noticed Aya's eyes also narrow in confusion. But suddenly, the current situation didn't matter anymore. What mattered now was that he was finally face to face once again with Schwarz. Ken had been waiting for this moment.

He unsheathed his claws with a growl, a tiger ready to kill, when a word of warning stopped him in his tracks.

"I wouldn't." Crawford grinned at him, and Ken fell back. They had Aya in a very dangerous position, he realized. _Shit!_ What Crawford said next made Ken realize, too, that whatever he did made no difference. "I thought you might like to watch your friend die first." He pulled his arm back, ready to strike Aya down where he stood.

"AYA!" Ken sprung forward, knowing he'd never make it.

It was the end, for all of them.

In an instant, the blade's tip drove inward. And in that same instant Ken watched, stunned, as the katana was suddenly entangled in fine wire and yanked from Crawford's grasp, who let out a constrained cry as the garrote wire also tore through the skin of his hand. The other Schwarz were even more startled than Ken; they all braced themselves against the sudden show of the unseen attacker.

"Yoji!" Ken cried out in relief at the timely appearance of Balinese.

Yoji grinned his usual smirk, wire in hand, as he shook his head at Siberian. "For Pete's sake," he said jokingly. "Can't you guys do anything right without me?" The katana landed inches from his feet with a metallic clatter.

Schuldig let out a curse. "I knew we forgot one!" he growled evilly.

"Indeed!" Suddenly, Aya rounded on the tall German, slugging him full in the jaw, sending Schuldig sprawling.

Aya then turned to Yoji for his blade, but didn't have the chance to receive it as Crawford stepped in. The American wrenched his arm around at an awkward angle and landed a harsh blow into his stomach. Yoji and Ken watched as Aya doubled over, but quickly, as usual, regained himself. The fight had begun in earnest.

Aya's sword in Yoji's inexperienced hands was little match for the blood-thirsty Farfarello and his multitude of daggers and knives, which seemed to magically appear in his hands at any given moment. Yoji was also at a loss, his garrote wire still uncoiled and loose. Ken moved in to help Aya, who was fiercely engaged in a battle with both Schuldig and Crawford. But he was stopped when he caught sight of the small, lithe form of the boy-Schwarz, alone, unarmed. Nagi Naoe blinked at him, unmoved. Then, he held out his hand, palm out, and struck.

The heaven's shook with thunder as Ken felt an indescribable force take hold of him, keeping any of his body from responding, held him frozen. Then it hurled him back against the building with such incredible force Ken thought his skull and spine would both shattered. The building shook with the impact, wood splintering, and Nagi dropped his arm.

Ken fell to the ground in a painful heap. He fought off waves of both nausea and darkness, fighting to keep from falling into unconsciousness. He couldn't find air, and heaving it in was painful. He felt the urge to cough and gag, but he hadn't the air to do it. His lungs burned, his eyes stung. It was an awful feeling. It _hurt!_ Groaning slightly, Ken managed to at least make it onto his hands and knees. He thought he heard someone, from far away, call his name. His head was swimming.

"Ken-kun? Ken!"

_Omi?_ Then he remembered the bomb. He pulled himself up a bit more, and looked into the assistant's room beyond. Omi was on his feet, a fan of darts in his hand. He knew what was happening, and he wanted to help fight.

"Omi," Ken murmured. He sucked in air for more words, despite the pain. "Do - whatever you can."

"But if it goes off -"

Ken growled darkly, sincerely, "Then we'll take these fucking bastards with us!"

Inside, Omi closed his eyes for a moment. That was it then. Their fate had already been decided. _So be it,_ he thought grimly. Then, opening his large, liquid eyes, Omi dragged his goggles down over his eyes and switched them on with determination. If he was going to die, then he'd die helping the others. They would all die fighting.

For a moment, Omi thought about simply triggering the bomb. All he'd have to do was walk into the other room. Easy. But something deep in his heart, the human instinct of survival, and hope, made him decide against that. If there was even a chance... He'd do it, as always, the hard way. Heaving one strong breath in, and easing it out, Omi stepped lightly out of the room. One step at a time, over and under, he could do it. He could make it through the room, without tripping the device. _Please!_

_

* * *

_

Yoji dropped to one knee as Farfarello drove twin blades down; he caught them, tips inches from his bloodied face, on the edge of Aya's sword, which he held strongly, if somewhat awkwardly. Lightning lit the deranged Schwarz's single eye like a demonic cat. Farfarello grinned.

_He's not gonna beat me,_ Yoji swore. Then, he grinned back at him. Rolling backwards, Yoji quickly grabbed Farfarello by one wrist, feeling the blade of one dagger slip away, while the other tore down. He moved his head just enough to avoid being cut, but he felt it rip through his hair, grazing his ear. He instantly brought a leg up, catching the Schwarz in the gut and hurling him over, sending him sailing into the ground. Slightly feeling the ebbing pain, Yoji swiftly gained his feet and lashed out.

The katana caught Farfarello on the side, slicing through cloth and bandages, to skin and muscles. Farfarello stood to his feet, only somewhat hunched over the bleeding wound in his side. He titled his head as if amused, and, while his eye never left the Weiß member, he pulled one hand over the slice, then drug his own blood across his lips with a smile. Yoji knew he was in for trouble with this one. And Aya needed his blade, having a hell of a time defending himself against two Schwarz, one who could foresee an attack, the other fast enough to dodge it.

Yoji shook his head. "Well then," he said breathlessly. Taking up Aya's blade, he cut the uncoiled wire off, heard the whir and snap as the remaining locked into place in his wrist device, and prepared to fight back the way he knew how.

* * *

Aya felt the sharp kick against his lower back as it knocked him into the dirt. His highly trained mind continued to work even while being beaten down. Aya rolled to his side to avoid Schuldig's well aimed boot to his ribs and then got his feet under him to continue fighting - still pondering what happened before the fight.

Ken had tried to warn him of something, but he hadn't been able to get the words out before the battle had commenced. It was a trap, that he knew. But Aya also knew there was something else entirely wrong with this scenario.

Roughly, Aya smacked Schuldig's fist away before it struck him square in the face, and caught the red headed Schwarz by a fistful of his hair, simultaneously bringing the German's head down and his own knee up to meet. Aya paid no heed to the jarring impact in his kneecap, but only hoping he broke Schuldig's nose.

Schuldig fell back, catching himself slightly. He shook only vaguely as he leaned into one knee, wiping blood from his nose, which had not been shattered, as he glared up at Aya. Head reeling, a buzz filling his ears, the Schwarz mind reader found the strength - and gall - to give his opponent a devilish, crooked grin.

It was then that Aya heard the click of a safety being unlocked from a semi-automatic gun. Crawford was done playing games.

Then, Aya's katana plunged blade first into the ground at his feet where he could instantly grasp the hilt. All hell was about to break loose.

* * *

Ken used the wall to brace his back as he tried to stand, but then he heard the soft tread, and saw the small booted foot step up before him. Panting, Ken lifted his gaze to glare at Nagi, who's eyes were void and empty. He stood tall and straight, his voice, when he finally spoke, was just as listless and hollow as his eyes.

"It hurts," he said softly, blinking once elegantly. "I know." He raised a hand again. "I'll make it end."

Ken made no response at all. But in his mind, he thought, just briefly, that this was the boy's way of being kind. He felt the first droplet of rain against his cheek, cold and tingling; he wondered if they'd all be around to see the storm's true shower. Outwardly, Ken hid his anguish and fear; inwardly, he prepared for the blow, if he could. But it was not delivered as a shower of darts rained down on the young Schwarz, who took two in his outstretched arm. He fell back with the softest cry, like a wounded kitten, and Ken turned to see Omi, awkwardly standing amid the room inside, slightly bent and leaning, arm still dropped from his precision throw.

As if seeing Omi made all his fears and pain subside, Ken lurched to his feet, numb to whatever sensation washed over him at his sudden movement. "Come on, just a few more steps!" he encouraged, leaning into the doorframe for support. _Can this be for real? Do we still have a chance?_

Omi tried to smile, but lost it as he moved, none too gracefully, even with his skinny frame, over another laser trigger. His eyes, tinted green by the goggles, were hard fixed on every inch where he placed one single foot. Thunder roared just as Omi neared the doorway, his arm outstretched for balance. Ken, driven, grabbed that arm and half pulled and half lifted the boy-Weiss, yanking him up and over, clear of the threat. But his balance was off-set by the extra weight, and they both toppled backwards against the ground. Ken took the brunt of the impact, Omi clutched securely against his chest. Still, they were safe. Sort of.

"Ken-kun," Omi said, rushed, defeated. "Sorry - I couldn't stop it - !"

Ken barely managed a quick, less-than-reassuring smile before he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. With a quick cry of, "Omi!" Ken pushed the boy away from him and rolled the opposite direction just as the thin blade of Farfarello drove deep into the dirt between them.

* * *

Omi, flat on his stomach, lifted his gaze to look at the assailant, who stood with head cocked deeply to one side. Momentarily, all he saw was the muscular, fit silhouette of someone who had short cropped hair as lightning again split the sky behind him. When it cleared, he saw the white skin, silver hair and eye patch of the one who killed Ouka, all that time ago. A time still fresh in his mind.

Omi suddenly became fierce as he found his feet, crossbow snapping out.

* * *

Ken, claws extended, was ready to help Omi, when out of nowhere he felt the presence of someone behind him. The fighting became a clear free-for-all as Schuldig stepped behind Ken, sandwiched in by Yoji, who shot his wire out perfectly. But Schuldig was expecting it.

Mindless of the pain, he caught the wire around his hand, wound it about his own wrist, and pulled out more line. Schuldig threw the garrote wire over Ken's head, catching him by the throat. Ken felt the wire dig into his skin, not knowing fully what had just happened as he was drug backwards, almost off his feet.

Yoji was dumbfounded. "Ken!" The force of Schuldig strangling Ken was pulling Yoji down, and for a second, the shade-wearing Weiß thought it was such a stupid way to be killed off.

Then Aya appeared out of nowhere, blade slicing down and cutting clean the wire. Yoji, at a loss, fell to his knees, but Ken was still in trouble. And soon they found a new opponent as Nagi stepped before them, blood staining the sleeve of his shirt, running down his hand.

Carelessly, Nagi reached out a hand, and Aya and Yoji both braced themselves, knees bending slightly, as they awaited the strange boy's attack. Instead, Nagi held out his hand and gracefully opened his fingers. Two of Omi's darts, the ones Nagi had pulled from his own arm, fell from his grasp. No emotions, no expression - yet it was still a challenge. And Aya was one to readily accept it.

Aya charged him, but Nagi was ready.

* * *

Omi's arrow found its mark. Unfortunately, that mark could not feel the stabbing pain of it plunging into his shoulder. Farfarello reached out to grab at him, but Omi put all his might into one blow, swinging his crossbow and smashing it into Farfarello's head, sending him sprawling.

Panting, Omi saw the counter of the bomb inside the building, and his heart sunk. Eight minutes. He turned to Weiß.

"Guys!" he cried. Everyone was instantly alerted by his foreboding, echoing voice. Something was definitely wrong. Thunder rolled. "_Hurry!_"

* * *

Schuldig cursed. The boy's voice rang in his ears, even as his thoughts ran through his mind. Now, he too, knew the danger involved. Defeated by the sudden astounding turn of events, Schuldig put a booted toe against Ken's back and pushed, sending him face forward, gasping, to the ground. He swiftly turned to Nagi, who had thrown Aya backwards with one solitary thought.

"So much for a fun reunion," Schuldig said, without amusement, through his breath. He motioned to Nagi that it was time to split; the boy followed the other without comment.

* * *

Yoji was helping Ken to his feet, getting the wire off from around his neck, when he saw Schuldig and Nagi leaving. "_Shit!_" he spat angrily. "I'm not letting them get away this time!"

"Yoji -" Ken started, but was choked off by Yoji's brutal tugging to regain his garrote while already taking off for his car. Ken was half-forced to follow him for fear of being strangled again. Winding the rest of the wire from around his head, Ken ran after Yoji. In the distance, around the other side of the building and under the roiling thunderheads, his own feet pounding against the gravel, Ken could hear the resonant humming of a car's engine.

They tore back the way they'd come, hell bent to keep Schwarz from leaving the premises. As he and Yoji, who was entirely too caught up in the moment, sprung into the open top of Yoji's sleek sports car, Ken asked him, "What about the others?"

Before Ken had even landed into the seat, Yoji had the car's ignition running and kicked it into gear. "Aya will take care of everything." The response was so determined and genuine, Ken had a hard time disbelieving it. Still, he felt too much like they were running away.

But to Yoji, they were trying to keep Schwarz from running off. If the place were to blow up, then Yoji would be damned if Weiß would go alone. And to even take one or two Schwarz with them was unacceptable. If they were to die that night, they would _all_ go to hell together.

* * *

Omi watched as Yoji and Ken followed suit after Schuldig and Nagi. Then his gaze snapped over to Aya, who was slowly gaining his feet, using his sword for support. And then his eyes focused on Crawford, gun in hand, coming up behind him. "Aya-kun!"

Unexpectedly, Omi was drug off his feet by a pair of hands and a vice-like grip on his ankle. He hit the ground hard, then rolled over to look Farfarello in the eye. The member of Schwarz wasn't about to let him get away. Omi flung a dart into his nimble fingers. Even if he died at that very moment, he'd die happy to see his dart tear into the only eye that bastard had left!

* * *

Ken gingerly put a hand to his raw, bleeding neck as Yoji put pedal to the metal, sending the car speeding forward, churning dust and pebbles up in its wake. Ken had to put a hand on the dashboard to keep from slamming his head into it as Yoji sent the car reeling onward. They sped around the building to the main entrance. Ken jerked, feeling slightly agog at Yoji's careening about. He suppressed the urge to bring his arms up defensively. _It's okay. Yoji knows what he's doing. _

Then the car jumped and shattered through the remains of the gate. Despite his best effort, Ken let out a cry as the ruined chain link and wire mesh fell down all around them. _Yoji knows what he's doing,_ he reminded himself again. It wasn't much of a comfort as Yoji slammed on the breaks, and both of them flung forwards, then instantly back. The car was stopped.

Not too far in front of them, Schuldig's classy, red car waited for them. They were _waiting_ for them!

* * *

Inside, Schuldig was grinning like a rabid panther, his eyes glowing as he waited. This would prove to be fun, indeed.

In the passenger's seat beside him, Nagi stared gravely out the windshield, sizing up their opponent's car. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know what Schuldig was going to do. The Weiß car had no roof, no head support. It would crumble under Schuldig's car like tin foil. If they didn't drive the car out of the way, they'd both be shattered along with their vehicle.

Schuldig chuckled deep in his throat, and shifted the gears. Weiß didn't move. Nagi thought coldly how foolish they were, saying silently to them, _Idiots._ This was their end.

"Take this." Without turning, Schuldig tossed Nagi a gun with a fresh clip inserted.

The boy looked down at his lap where the heavy object had landed, gazing on the automatic with a disgusted look. Disdainfully he said to the German, "I don't need it."

All Schuldig did in response was widened his grin with a hoarse chuckle. He had another in its holster under his jacket. This was _his_ moment, and he'd be damned if he'd let any of Weiß survive this night. Any way he could, he'd see them all dead! He griped the wheel of his car, listening to the rolling of the engine. Now his grin became a true smile of pleasure.

* * *

Yoji, his expression dark, stared at the other car for a moment, and Ken knew exactly what he was thinking. "Yoji," he said warningly. But it was too late. The Yoji's mind was made up as he pumped the gas, forcing the engine to grind smoothly. Ken's eyes widened slightly. "Yoji, you can't -"

"I'm not letting them get away."

"You're not playing chicken with that car!"

Yoji ignored him, flinging the car into gear. Ken jumped for his seatbelt. _Oh lord!_

_

* * *

_

003... 002... 001... 000.

The explosives went off with tremendous power, such that it sent the remaining building imploding in on itself, what remaining windows left shattering to ruins, showering out like shards of deadly rain. As Omi had predicted, it triggered two other bombs set nearby in the main building. Fires shot towards the sky, as if the man-made device were trying to challenge the rain storm sent in by the heavens. The blaze erupted into clouds above, seen from all parts of the city.

* * *

Yoji slammed on the gas just as the explosion racked the world around them, and Schuldig shot his car forward a second later. Both drivers were oblivious to the blast, eyes fixed on each other. Nagi, too, seemed not to mind the eardrum-shattering effect the bomb had, but Ken crumbled in on himself at that moment, totally not expecting the device to go off. He turned to view the fiery effect, the orange glow cast against his face, reflecting in his eyes; he could feel the heat of the fires even from inside the car. Half the massive, ruined building was alit, burning debris sailing, slamming down around the speeding cars. Eyes round and stinging, Ken could only think about the others.

_Omi... Aya…_ He closed his eyes for a moment, sadly. Was this how it was meant to end?

Then the cry of burning rubber and speeding cars thrummed in his ears, the sounds of the explosion making his mind whir, and Ken was forced back into the reality of it all as both cars drew near. Ken saw the red car coming closer, and despite any real life accounts on the news about near death experiences, things did not go in slow motion, nor did Ken see any of his life flash before his eyes. It was coming in a whirlwind. He made an angry sound. _You asshole, Yoji!_

_

* * *

_

It was suddenly as if the other member of Weiß had heard his friend's thoughts, felt his fear and torment. Yoji's hands tensed on the wheel, and despite all his previous desires to feel his car smash into the other, he suddenly was struck with the full realization of what he was about to do - and he also realized Ken was sitting anxiously beside him. _Fuck!_ Yoji thought; Schuldig read it. As the cars were about to collide, Yoji spun the wheel hard. The tires squealed as if in agony.

And Schuldig smiled, brushing against Yoji's mind an instant before he acted. He knew Yoji wouldn't go through with it, he would turn away. And that's what the German was waiting for. Reading the Weiß's mind, Schuldig calculated his own actions to match; and flung his car towards Yoji's, so that the collision would still be inevitable.

They crashed! Schuldig's red car slid into the other, slamming into the passenger's side as Yoji's car spun. In a reeling wreckage, both cars smashed out of control into the wall of one of the remaining buildings. It was a twisted heap of metal, one tire flying away; it came to rest at all awkward angles. Everyone involved was still alive - and they acted upon the moment.

Schuldig leaped from the remains of his car, kicking the bent door out. Blood trickled down his face from a gash on his head, but otherwise he was unharmed, besides being bruised and whip lashed. He went to the driver's side of the other car, gun ready - he was ready to fire at any signs of life from Weiß. He aimed.

And came face to face with Yoji, a gun now in the Weiß member's hand as well. They aimed at each other...

* * *

Right after the cars had collided, the impact of careening into the building stopping their chaotic spinning, Ken fell from his side of the car, the door twisted completely off. Schuldig's car had taken them in the side he was in, and Ken hadn't even known what had happened when he felt the crushed metal bend inward. All he felt was the pain against his side as they hit. Blood ran from a wound on his face, his body was throbbing and numb. Ken hit the ground, feeling the gravel against his cheek. All his senses were muddled. He had no thoughts; he was numbed to the pain. He wondered if he was dying.

As he lay there, he heard the thunder, and the clouds parted overhead as the rain finally began to fall, slowly at first, but giving way to a pounding shower. Each splatter of water that struck him stung, and Ken realized, almost happily, that he could feel it. _I'm not dead?_ Then he cursed Yoji.

Of a sudden, he saw the boy of Schwarz standing above him, coming from the wreckage completely unscathed. Nagi, illuminated by the orange glow of the fires burning in the main building behind them, stood there for a moment, unheeded by anything. Then, almost pitifully, he raised his arm, and Ken was now staring down the barrel of the gun in the boy's hand.

* * *

Neither Weiß nor Schwarz pulled the trigger in that first moment. Schuldig laughed at the absurdity of it all, then he looked Yoji full in the eyes, dark and vile. "You're too soft, Weiß!" he declared.

And pulled back the trigger.

_CLICK! _

Schuldig made a surprised sound, eyes full of shock as his gun didn't go off. He had no rounds. He gave a disgusted, very angry growl as the rain started to fall.

"Too bad!" Yoji grinned, and fired - but with the ability to move with the speed of a cheetah, Schuldig was out of the way before Yoji squeezed the trigger. He appeared, as if he had teleported there, on the wreckage behind him, atop the remains of Yoji's car, balanced.

Yoji suddenly turned to get another shot off, but was met by Schuldig's boot in his face. He toppled backwards, and it was then that the black car sped from the fires.

* * *

Nagi's eyes were large and glistening as he stared down at Ken's crumbled, bleeding form. The Weiß member stared up at him, squinting at him against the loudly falling rain, wet and in pain. It felt strange to be standing there in the rain with an amazing fire burning behind the car wreck, aiming a gun at a Weiß. The world around him was chaotic and deafening, but Nagi was thinking clearly.

The gun was heavy and awkward in his hand. Actually, he had never fired and killed anyone before. He didn't know if he liked the thought of it. His shabby, dark brown hair clung to his face as rainwater trickled down his cheeks like tears.

And Nagi realized he didn't want to do it. He relaxed his arm a bit.

But Schuldig would be mad at him if he didn't, no doubt even offended. And it would be a quick way to finish off Weiß. He wouldn't even feel it, and then it would be over.

Nagi made up his mind, and straightened his arm, his finger pressing back on the trigger.

* * *

Ken flinched, but jumped in surprise at the strange _thud!_ sound that followed. It wasn't the shattering sound of a gun going off, but the sound of something blunt meeting someone's body. And he watched as Nagi's entire frame jerked and tensed, his back arching as his head was smashed forward, cracked in the back of the head by the hilt of a katana. He let out a strangled, pained sound before he sank to his knees. He fell, unconscious, into the puddles and gravel beside Ken. Behind him, sword in hand, stood...

"Aya?"

* * *

Schuldig cursed as the passenger's side door of the black car was flung open, waiting for him. With profound profanity, he got into Crawford's car and, as he slammed the door shut, it raced off into the night, swallowed up by the heavy rains of the storm.

Watching helplessly, Yoji painfully stood to his feet, testing his poor jaw and gingerly touching the bruise already forming on his cheek from the kick he took. He spat out a curse at the retreating car. They had gotten away! And he was still alive. _Dammit!_

Slowly, he turned to see if Ken had made it out as well, and he wasn't surprised at all to see Aya helping Ken to his feet. Yoji let out a whistling sigh.

"What the hell happened?" he wondered aloud.

He stood there, watching the fires rage and viewing the remaining wreckage of the abandoned Taro Minor warehouse and the two cars - _his_ car! _How did that bastard know I'd turn away?_ He growled low in his throat in rage, but the confusion soon washed it away. A bomb, a car collision - not the typical day's work.

Then he heard Ken ask, hoarse and fearful, "Omi? Where's Omi?"

Yoji turned to look sadly at Aya, not certain if he wanted to hear the answer. Ken, supported by Aya and leaning heavily into the redhead's arm, looked up into the depths of those violet eyes, his heart pounding in his ears. Aya didn't make eye contact with either one of them. Instead, his eyes, flickering with the shadows and light of the flames, stared into the rain and darkness, caught on the spot where the Schwarz car had disappeared.

Ken understood then. He stared into the dark and thundering showers, and angrily, he pushed roughly away from Aya. He wavered on his feet, and when Aya tried to help, he motioned hard with one hand, refusing his friend's arm. "I can walk," he rumbled, even though he wasn't so sure he could. He was weak, crumpled over his middle, arm around his side, still throbbing from the impact of the collision.

He staggered, leaning into the wreckage of Yoji's car, to where the Schwarz member had fallen. Aya and Yoji watched him, their expressions grave and bewildered. Ken dropped to his knees beside the still boy, kneeling in the rain and fresh mud. He looked over the small body of Nagi on the ground, their enemy now a prison of theirs, but all he could think about was Omi.

* * *

Schuldig swore again, trying to wipe the blood from his face but only succeeding in smearing it on his skin. He turned to Crawford, whose black hair was dampened by both blood and rain. "Only a little bit of the future, eh?" he said with an angry sarcasm.

Crawford turned to give him the most evil look, and Schuldig realized that the American was seething, perhaps even more angry than himself. Behind the glasses, which had miraculously survived the battle, his eyes were full of a pulsing rage, full of a dark fire that was burning out of control. He had been right about Weiß, but he had no inkling of what the hell had just happened at the warehouse. What was supposed to be their revenge had turned into a mysterious defeat, and Crawford was fuming because he hadn't known. He hadn't seen any of it, and he wanted explanations.

Schuldig tore his eyes away from Crawford's hard glare and winced as he rubbed the back of his neck. He started preening over his hand, torn and bloody, from where he had caught that one bastard's wire, and cursed himself, and his luck; he had nearly killed that Hidaka one! But hell, he wouldn't be able to use his hand in a good while! Schwarz was in a sorry shape. Then it hit him.

"Nagi is-?"

"I assume," said the American, whose voice, however, remained clear and smooth, "he's in the care of Weiß."

"Heh?" Schuldig arched a brow as he turned to look at their leader. Then he nodded. "That little chibi can withstand anything, even a car accident or building blowing up. I don't remember seeing him get out of my car, but-" He pressed a hand to his head, trying to think back, though it was all a blur, everything still too raw. "But still, a sword to the heart or throat gutted by wire _will_ kill him. You think Weiß will take him home like a lost puppy?"

Crawford laughed then, his deep, throaty chortle full of a wickedness and mirth that Schuldig didn't quite understand. He said in response, "What would you do in that situation?"

Schuldig cocked his head in thought, and winced again. "Damn." He sighed, sore and in pain, but finally replied, "Make a good hostage. Could even torture some valuable information outta him."

"Indeed."

Schuldig caught the strange, all-knowing tone in Crawford's voice, and he eyed the American in confusion. Then he heard Farfarello hiss in the backseat, and Schuldig looked over his shoulder. His eyes widened.

There, bleeding from a wound on his side, sat the Irishman, still alert and kicking. And he was crooning over the little Weiß brat, who laid in an unconscious pile beside him. Farfarello was staring at the boy wickedly, playing with one of Omi's darts between his fingers. He said to no one in particular, "We've swapped members for a night." His teeth were suddenly bared in a cruel smile.

Schuldig, not fully understanding what in God's name had just happened to them on that night, turned back around to watch the windshield wipers work at the heavily falling rain. He smiled. So they had a Weiß member in their possession? They were going home with the Kewpie doll as a prize. _What should we do with it?_


	5. Fünf

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Fünf (Five)

With the way their night had gone, the three members of Weiß were not surprised to find Manx waiting for them at the trailer. She stood in the darkness, heedless to the light rain that now fell to the earth in a fine mist. Thunder still groaned every once in awhile, an alert the storm was not yet over.

Manx's eyes were full of a mysterious worry as she said to Aya when he got out of his car, "What happened? It looks like you've been dancing with the Devil."

Aya brushed past her without a word, but she knew immediately from the glint in his eyes that he was seriously angry. Manx arched an expectant brow and turned to Yoji, who was slowly getting out of the passenger's side, not much of him visible with his black coat. Unusual for the playboy, he didn't even look at her. But he did reply with dry sarcasm, "Unfortunately, the Devil was leading."

Manx started to say something, her tone grave, but she was cut off as she watched Yoji open the back door, and Ken, badly beaten, got out. He was carrying the limp body of a young boy in his arms. Manx gasped and started forward. "What happened?"

Then she caught a glimpse of the pale, unfamiliar face with the thick locks of ebony-brown hair. She made a confused sound, shaking her head at the peculiar events. "That's not Omi. But _what_ happened?"

Ken, clutching the boy gently in his arms, walked hurriedly by, his brows set heavily and his mood dark. Yoji followed him, only once catching Manx's confused eyes; she didn't like what she saw in his hunter-green gaze. The three of them went into the trailer's living space, where Manx had all the lights already on and their small television set turned to the current evening news. Yoji disappeared into the back, while Ken took the unconscious boy, with no hesitation, into Omi's small room. Manx stood with her arms crossed over her chest in the middle of the confined living quarters.

"Why are you here?" Aya's voice was heavy.

Manx turned to the assassin now entering the trailer. He silently closed the door behind him, sealing off all outside life. His purple gaze was firm and questioning. She said without restraint, "I might think to ask you the same question."

Aya merely cocked his head. Outwardly, he always acted like he knew everything about the way their world operated, knew every secret before it was betrayed. But she had know these boys for years, and could now tell when they were confused and hurting.

Manx elaborated, "I received a message via coded email at Kritiker tonight. It said that the mission had failed." Her eyes were dark lit. "Failure means death for you four. So, of course, I came right over."

"You don't know who sent the message." His tone was sure; it was not a question.

Finally, she could stand it no longer. "What happened tonight? You told me the mission would begin at dusk, and that you had a target in sight."

"Unfortunately," came Yoji's voice as he appeared from the dim depths of the back rooms, "we were ill prepared. We went with the thought there was only one kidnapper." In his arms he carried a mass of bandages and gauze, alcohol and salves. He dropped them all noisily onto the coffee table and flopped down on the couch. He removed his sunglasses and stripped off his coat. Manx winced at how badly bruised his face and forearms were.

She asked, "Then, you don't know who kidnapped Akira? The target -"

Yoji scoffed, almost nastily. "You think we would look like chopped meat if we simply waltzed into an empty building, shrugged and said, 'No one here. Gee, let's go home!'?"

"It was a trap," said Aya, eyes thoughtfully closed as he leaned against the wall.

"But you were expecting a trap, weren't you?"

Aya just nodded. Yoji said, "Not a trap like _that_!" Then he winced as he touched a cotton ball soaked with alcohol against his earlobe where Farfarello had caught him. He watched Manx as he worked, saying, "You didn't recognize that boy Ken brought home?"

The implication hit home, and Manx inquired with much surprise, "Schwarz? This was all set up by Schwarz?"

"No," replied Aya. "Schwarz was caught in the trap, as well. They knew we'd be there, but they thought we were there to kill someone. They thought they had us during a mission." He remembered the German's sarcastic remark about hanging prey. At the time he had assumed Schwarz had killed that man, but they thought the opposite.

Manx's tawny red brows knit together. "So you think someone was trying to -"

"They wanted both Weiß and Schwarz dead."

Manx, lips slightly parted in a thunderstruck way, sighed heavily and put a hand on her hip, the other to her head in thought. "What's going on here? Who has Akira? And where? If it's not Schwarz, who could it be?"

Aya suddenly moved before her, and from the folds of his trench coat he produced the name tag he had taken off the body at the warehouse. Manx took it in her hands, staring, almost sadly, at the bar code across it. "He was Kritiker, wasn't he?" said Abyssinian.

Manx nodded. She didn't even have to scan the code or call a source. She said with conviction, "Himalayan. He's been missing since yesterday. His wife called us to say he hadn't even been home. He's dead?"

Aya nodded. "You don't seem surprised."

"He was one under suspicion of being the leak in our department." She gave a hoarse chuckle, one full of regret and betrayal. "I guess we know now he was."

"Then they've disposed of their scapegoat," Aya remarked.

"What?"

"An inside job. Our target, that woman, worked for the boy's father. This man was Kritiker. Between them, they had enough knowledge to set up this whole scheme. I'd assume this Himalayan had surpassed his usefulness."

Yoji asked from the couch, "Then you think this chick was killed off, too?"

He got no verbal response; Aya merely tilted his head as much to say, "I don't know" as to express his confusion. He did finally say, "I don't think she was the mastermind."

Yoji gave a slanted grin. "Then there's more of them. Boy, when they find out we're not dead -!"

Manx's eyes widened. "That's right. By that message I received tonight, they thought their plan would succeed. They thought you would all be dead. When they find out they failed..." She looked from Yoji to Aya, as if preparing them for a long way ahead. "They may try again."

"Good! I'd love a go at them!" Yoji exclaimed, slamming his fist into the other hand to highlight his words. Then he winced, and shook out his injured palm gingerly.

Behind them, a breaking news report made its way onto the television, a report of a huge explosion and a fire burning out of control at an old, abandoned warehouse. Firefighters could not quench the flames, and police waited on the scenes to investigate the suspicious occurrence. Unfortunately for them, they would find no clues, no leads, and no answers.

* * *

Inside the black room, Ken didn't bother to switch on the light as he placed Nagi Naoe gently down atop the fresh sheets of Omi's cot, paying no mind that the Schwarz was soaking wet and caked with dirt. Right now, despite the heavy worry weighing down on his chest, making him feel the need to rush, Ken wasn't thinking about their missing member. Right now, all that mattered was to keep this other boy alive. If he died...

The boy's breathing was slow and uneven, and Ken checked for a pulse on his wrist. It was there, although the beat under the skin was out of rhythm and laggard. Hopefully it was only because he was unconscious. Hopefully. Ken stripped off one of his gauntlets and placed a hand on the boy's forehead and winced. He was burning up. He brushed dark, wet strands of hair off Nagi's face, shaking his head at how pale the boy was. But then, when he thought back, this child was always so frail and pale looking. But so powerful.

Ken removed his hand, and gasped when it came away bloody. His eyes caught the small amount of blood seeping into the pillow under Nagi's head. The gash in the back of his head was closing up, thankfully, but still bleeding. And so was the wound on his arm where Omi...

Quickly Ken left the room, squinting slightly against the onslaught of bright light that greeted him in the inner area. The three there stopped their dire conversation long enough to watch him move over to the coffee table. Roughly, Ken went through all the medical supplies Yoji had strewn about. Yoji, cigarette now between his lips, pressed his back into the cushions of the sofa and held his hands away, watching Ken with a worried expression as he rummaged through everything.

Hands full of necessities, Ken turned away without a word. Yoji said, "Shouldn't you take care of yourself first, Ken?" He got no reply. "Stupid... he's really fussing over that brat. Maybe you should have cracked the kid a little more gently, Aya?"

Abyssinian's eyes narrowed into mere violet slits. He said thickly, "I should have killed him."

Just by the doorway, Ken heard him, and for some reason, he found himself round on Aya, his eyes full of resentment and anger. "He's just a boy!" he growled. "He's just like Omi, can't you see that, Aya! We can't let him die!"

Aya's eyes were unchanged, but Yoji and Manx ogled him like something strange. Ken grew more angry at the fact they didn't even understand, and turned away with a frustrated _tch!_. How could they not see? How could they not realize he was only a child? That was why Ken insisted they help him when they could have easily left the boy-Schwarz there in the rain and fire. He couldn't let him die!

* * *

As Ken disappeared, Manx said, almost sadly, "He's worried about Omi."

Yoji gave a weighty sigh. "So am I. Those Schwarz guys aren't as kind-hearted as we are." Blinking at those last words, Yoji eyed Aya in a strange way. "Well," he said, his humor returning, "some of us, anyway."

Without responding to that humor, Aya turned to Manx and inquired darkly, "Does the word _Betr__ü__ger_ mean anything to you?"

She blinked at him in confusion, as did Yoji; it was the first time either of them had heard the German word. Betrüger. Deceiver.

* * *

By the bedside in Omi's room, Ken spilled all the rolls of gauze and treatments on the nightstand. He removed his last bagh nakh and carefully sat at the head of the bed, gently placing the boy's head against him, tilting it so he could work at the wound. He parted the damp hair, flinching at how sticky it was with blood. He recalled how Nagi had stiffened against the impact when Aya struck him, and for an instant, he had a vision of Omi…

What would they do to Omi?

He treated the gash and bandaged the boy's head. Then he stripped off Nagi's shirt, and cleaned off the twin wounds in his upper arm where he'd taken those darts. Omi's strength had plunged them in deep, and Nagi's careless removal had only widened the holes. Ken wound gauze and bandages around his arm. Then, he easily lifted the boy's wilted frame and tucked him, gently, under the sheets, even though the bed was stained and bloodied. He laid a cool cloth on his forehead, hoping his fever wouldn't get any worse.

He stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of Nagi's chest under the blankets. His youthful face, with its soft features and fair skin, seemed almost serene for a change as he was lost in the dark world Aya had brutally hurled him. Finally, the stress and fear returned, and Ken's thoughts wandered back...

_Dammit, Omi!_ And he finally succumbed to his own wounds and the heavy, tired feeling in his body. He sank to his knees beside the bed, staring hard at the boy-Schwarz. In his mind, he swore, _I won't let you die. Because you're going to help us find Omi!_

_

* * *

_

"Crawford?" The man watched the three members of Schwarz enter headquarters with an astounded expression. The American eyed him darkly as he entered, thinking he looked like someone who had just seen a ghost.

"What is it, Ikeda?" he asked blandly, already peeling off his damp, bloodied jacket.

Behind him, Schuldig was carrying the little Weiß boy in his arms like some broken doll, his long face missing the usual taunting mirth; now, Schuldig looked demonic in his seething vexation. Quietly, Farfarello trailed after them into the shadowy office-like building that was the Schwarz home-base.

Ikeda, his black eyes showing confusion as he briefly registered that Omi was not Nagi, followed on their heels. "We didn't think you'd be coming back at all." He tailed them into the main office, saying to Crawford's back, "We received a strange communication only about an hour ago."

The raven-haired man stopped dead in his tracks at that, and Ikeda made a strangled sound, as if he had said something wrong. Crawford merely asked, "What sort of communication?"

"An email," he replied quickly. "It said that there was a tragedy within Schwarz, and that I should take over the base here in Tokyo. I thought you were all killed!"

That caused a snicker from Schuldig. "Like we'd ever leave you in charge, Ikeda!"

Ignoring the sarcasm, Crawford turned to face Ikeda with an irately haughty air. The underling flinched slightly at the profound, dark presence about his leader, at the sheer rage his eyes held. "And do you have this communication?" was all Crawford finally asked.

Ikeda shook his head. "It was heavily encoded. When it was finally opened by our data techs, it let loose a virus into the systems within a few seconds. In fact, we're still working to reboot them now, which is why I had such trouble trying to get in contact with you."

Crawford gave a bitter grin. "Actually," said he, "Schuldig had the communication link." He turned to the German. "I believe you left it in your car, didn't you?"

Schuldig's entire rancorous countenance deepened, and his hands clutched the limp boy in his arms until his knuckles were white. Thankfully, little Omi was still unconscious and couldn't feel the fingers gripping him like talons. Ikeda looked at him in utter confusion, asking, "Where is your car?"

It was Crawford who responded, continuing further into the room, "I fear it'll be in the shop for awhile." Schuldig glared at him. "Take the boy somewhere," he suddenly commanded. "Leave him until he wakes up."

"What are we going to do with him?"

"We'll decide that later."

Ikeda asked as the German carried Omi out, "Isn't that boy... ?"

Crawford interrupted, suddenly about the business at hand, "Farfarello, get yourself to the infirmary now before you bleed to death."

Farfarello gave his shoulder and side the once over, both heavily crusted with congealing, oozing blood, and easily shrugged it off. He said without thought, "I'm fine."

"I'm sure you are," said Crawford. But he didn't retract his order, and so Farfarello had no choice but to obey. He gave a small, slanted grin, letting an evilly amused "Hmm" escape his pale lips; but he bobbed his head in a nod and disappeared into the corridors of the building.

Crawford, slinging his jacket across the back of a nearby chair, once again turned his attention to the member of his staff. "Now," he said. "Please continue."

Ikeda half shrugged as he said, "I barely had time to read the transmission before everything went down. The only other thing it said was that I should expect another communication, one with instructions."

Crawford arched a black brow. "Instructions? For what?"

"It didn't say. This whole night has been a huge mystery."

All Crawford could do in response was smirk at him wickedly. A mystery. It was that, indeed! But he thought to himself, _Whoever it is, when they find out we're still alive, they won't send those instructions. Then how will we hunt them out?_ He waved at Ikeda idly, a gesture which implied the other should excuse himself. Crawford commanded, "Get the systems working again. See where we are after that, and, if possible, try to trace that mail."

He knew it was a useless order. The virus no doubt worked its disease well, leaving nothing behind but a connection that would need to be entirely recoded and set. But it got rid of Ikeda, who nodded his head in understanding before leaving the office. Alone in the well-sized, sparsely furnished room, Crawford turned to the large bay window behind his desk, staring beyond the glass, which vaguely reflected back his image, into the deep night-world.

The storm was still hanging over the city, and the thick mist laying over the streets left it looking lit and empty. In the distance, he saw the flashing red lights of a police cruiser as it tore through the streets on a call. Crawford knew where it was going. After all, the fires were still burning when they left, and if it wasn't extinguished soon, it might spread into civilian homes. Ordinary people mustn't ever become aware of the cruel underworld he knew. For now, only the police and city workers were ever allowed mere glimpses into that world, until the day Schwarz wished it otherwise. But now, Schwarz would have to be on hold. Something strange was happening, and Crawford feared it might interrupt all their plans.

He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, searching his mind for a vision, any glimpse into the things to come. He needed a clue, and it tormented him that he could find nothing. He had always taken Schwarz forward with the secure knowledge that he knew what was coming, what to expect. It's what kept him ahead of the police, ahead of Eszett, and even ahead of Weiß. His hands balled into trembling fists with anger as he saw nothing - nothing but the blackness inside his mind, the same blackness that ordinary people knew. He couldn't see it, couldn't see what lied ahead. _Dammit!_

"_Oi._"

Crawford turned away from the window to see Schuldig standing in the doorway. The tall German tossed him something, which he easily snatched from the air. He opened his hand to find a roll of gauze. Schuldig twiddled his fingers about his own head in implication, saying, "You're bleeding."

Crawford made an unconcerned sound, but removed his glasses and pressed the gauze to the side of his head, where he'd been cleanly cut, none too severely, by Abyssinian. Schuldig strode into the room. Without his glasses, Crawford couldn't see the red head too clearly as he moved over to sink into the cushioned loveseat against the wall. Schuldig leaned his head back into the pillows with a frustrated sigh. He began working his torn hand, which was freshly bandaged, and with the other hand, laid a gentle fingertip to his sore nose; he could only be thankful it wasn't broken. But he was still very pissed off.

They both stayed like that in the dim silence for some while, pondering the current dilemma in their own ways. Finally, with another heavy sigh, Schuldig said placidly, "Farfarello's gettin' stitched up. I don't think I need to say he'll be fine."

"Where did you stick the kid?"

"He's bedded down comfortably at Hotel de Schwarz." He gave his characteristic side grin. "Holding room three. I made sure to bind him well, in case he feels like coming to before anyone has a chance to watch him."

"Did you post a guard?"

Schuldig shook his thick orange locks. "Camera's on, though. If he wakes up, boys up in security will let us know." He left another moment to silence, then finally shattered it, his voice dropping into an angry growl, "_Scheiße!_"

Schwarz could always tell when Schuldig was truly angry by the way he reverted to his mother language; Crawford turned to look at him, awaiting an actual statement. The German said, "What the hell happened tonight?" His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling ahead of him, but the expression was distant, enraged. "If that previous mail from before - if that was just a set-up to kill Weiß, they should have had the decency to warn us they were gonna blow the place! It's not like we wouldn't have jumped at the chance to do in those Hunters!" He sniggered nastily. "For free, even!"

Crawford said, in a tone much more calm, "It wasn't a set-up. It was a trap."

Schuldig finally swiveled his gaze to look at the American. "A trap?"

Crawford gave a bland smile. "It seems the fact the warehouse was set to explode came as a shock to us all, Weiß and Schwarz alike. Whoever set it wanted us both there, together."

"So you're saying, someone wanted us to kill Weiß, and the blast to kill us? Or if we failed, visa-versa?" He rumbled low in his throat. "That's truly overkill."

"They wanted to be sure."

"Heh, so why would someone want us dead in the same instant as Weiß?"

"Obviously our two groups, though opposing, are a threat to someone," said Crawford. Thoughtfully he pondered, "I do wonder why. Weiß and Schwarz have completely different objectives."

Schuldig added, "They only wanted us dead. We're the ones who head this organization, after we had the guts to overthrow Eszett's hold on us. Do you think someone is out to take over Schwarz?"

"Or it could be they were hoping that by cutting off the head, the body would wither to nothing."

Schuldig leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and draping his hands. "Too many questions," he mumbled.

"At least we do know one thing for certain," said Crawford.

Schuldig turned to him. "What's that?"

Carefully, Crawford set his glasses back over his eyes, pressing them securely in place on the bridge of his nose with one index finger. Then he turned to look into the German's eyes, and an ironic smile played across his lips. " Weiß is in the same situation as we are. Whoever is out to kill us will try again, and this time, we'll be fighting the same enemy."

Thoughtfully, Crawford set a hand against his lips, and Schuldig watched him patiently. Finally the American sighed, as if coming to some hard conclusion, and said, "Be prepared to move."

Schuldig merely nodded, and this time, there was no Cheshire Cat grin to accompany the gesture. Things had already been set into motion, and they had no control over any of it.


	6. Sechs

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Sechs (Six)

_Papa? _

_Dark. Everything was so dark. It was a blackness that was so still and silent, a solitary abyss fathoms down; it was like drowning. The darkness was immense and heavy, making it difficult to breathe. There was no end to this night, no escape from the bottomless hole in which they had thrown him. And he was lost; he was left alone. He felt the icy grip of fear return, the dread of being by himself - in their hands. _

_Papa, why? Why don't you save me? _

_But like before, he did not come; no one cared enough to rescue him. He was captured, held, left completely isolated in the darkness. Where he would drown. _

_Papa... _

Omi jerked awake, drenched in sweat. His huge eyes remained unfocused in the dim light for some time, and all he could do was breathe. His body felt heavy and warm, his arms were numb and he could barely move. Panting, trembling, he felt all the fears and the loneliness dissipate, washing away with the remaining darkness of unconsciousness. _A dream?_ He swallowed hard, and tried to move again.

He found his hands were handcuffed behind his back. This wasn't any dream! He pulled himself up, swiftly trying to recall what had happened. Then he noticed, even in the pale light, the skin on his legs, bare past the knees in his shorts, was tinted pink. Burned? That's right: the explosion, the fires. His shirt felt stiff with dried blood that wasn't his own. It was Farfarello's.

The fight was over, but what happened? And where was he? Omi rolled about, trying to right himself. Using the wall as a brace, fighting against his shackles, Omi turned to face his surroundings. He was on a cot, a metal frame with a board covered by one sheet. An uncomfortable bed, to say the least. Scanning the dark room, he found he was in a small holding cell, with a short-backed, wooden chair as the only other piece of furniture there. Plain stone walls, concrete floor... an interrogation room? Omi felt his heart sink. Schwarz had him in their grasp.

A small red light caught his eye, faintly twinkling in the far corner. It was a camera. They were watching him. Omi glared up at the lens, wondering what would happen now that they knew he was awake. Only silence answered him, deep and still. The air in the room was cold against his warm skin and soaked in a cold sweat, he began shivering. How could he get out of this?

Suddenly, there came a click of a key, the turn of a knob, and the heavy metal door he hadn't even noticed swung open. Omi contained his surprise, but pressed himself further against the wall. Framed in the doorway stood the wild-haired German. Even in the dark, his eyes shone wickedly, his smile bright and full of a dire mirth.

"Morning, chibi," he greeted, but there was hardly any trace of polite hospitality in his tone. He stepped into the room, and for a moment Omi thought he held a gun; he braced himself. "Sorry," said Schuldig, "I know you've just come to, but we need you to go back to sleep for a bit."

He raised his arm, and Omi saw that it was an injection gun. Schuldig clipped a vial to the top, flicking his fingers against the side to remove any air bubbles. And he smiled at the Weiß boy. "Let's not do this the hard way, huh?"

Omi's eyes widened as the Schwarz approached him. Quick as a flash, Schuldig reached out and snagged Omi by the cuff of his shirt, dragging the boy towards him, and then the injection. Omi struggled, cautious to whatever he was about to have shot into his blood stream. Schuldig growled as the lithe boy wriggled furiously in his one-handed grip.

"Let me go!" Omi warned.

"You little -" was all Omi heard in reply before he felt the muzzle of the gun brush against his neck. And a sudden jolt of panic ran through him, and he responded fiercely. Omi brought his knee up with a brutal force between the German's legs, dropping him almost instantly. Omi dropped back onto the cot, hearing the gun clatter to the floor as Schuldig lost his grip.

"_Hurensohn!_" the German spat at him through ground teeth, his voice hoarse and cracked. He glared up at the boy from his awkward kneel on the floor, supporting himself by one hand on the wall, his eyes were hot with anger. Omi wondered if perhaps that was the wrong move.

But the door had been left opened. If he was to try and escape, this was the perfect chance. Except he was still handcuffed; that would impede him terribly. Still, an opportunity like this would be rare. Omi jumped to his feet and bolted for the door. Only to come face to face with one dispassionate amber gaze. So he hadn't killed him!

He skidded to a halt before colliding with Farfarello, who merely issued one of his amused smirks, before roughly back-handing Omi across the face. He felt the jarring sting, heard the open CRACK as the white hand met his own cheek, and he toppled to the unforgiving floor. Omi couldn't stop a pained cry as he hit the ground, twisting his left arm in an unnatural way. Farfarello shook his head. A dagger appeared in his fingers.

"God hurts at the loss of children," he cooed. Omi knew it was a threat.

From the cot, Schuldig wheezed, "God's not the one hurting right now." He was sweating and trembling, a muscle above his eyebrow twitched uncontrollably, but he still managed to grasp the gun in his hand, knuckles white. Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet. "Besides," he said, breathless still, "God hates a brat just as much as anyone!"

Omi flinched as Farfarello suddenly grabbed him, heaving him to his feet and placing the dagger across his throat, holding him secure by his cuffed wrists. Omi could only watch as Schuldig moved up to him, rattling the injection gun and serum in his hand. His wide grin had returned; the devil was amused.

"Sleep or die," said the German. Farfarello pressed his thin blade against the skin of Omi's neck to punctuate the choices. "Don't make us pick for you."

Faced with that decision, Omi could only squeeze his eyes shut and give up resisting. He felt the smooth press of the gun, heard the soft tick of the trigger being pulled, and felt the quick sting, like a prick from a rose thorn. In that instant, it was given. _Damn it …_ This certainly wasn't good. Omi felt the heaviness in his body return, the tired sensation as if he hadn't slept in weeks. His focus was blurry, vision fading fast.

The last thing he remembered was hearing the soft voice of Farfarello hiss, "Good night, Weiß." Then, the hell he was in turned to true night.

* * *

Schuldig grumbled at the unconscious boy. "_Wichser_! Fuck!" For once, he let Farfarello see him in agony, though he could feel it wearing off slightly. His knees shook, and he thought he would collapse, but Schuldig glared at the Irishman, pulling himself up to his full height and said, "Take him to the truck. We have to start moving."

Farfarello watched his comrade for a moment, his expression neither sympathetic nor worried, and said, in his typical toneless voice, "Read his mind sooner next time." He smirked, but it was without humor as he lifted Omi in his arms.

"Just go!" Schuldig growled. _Read his mind, heh?_ Now he was in too much pain to peek into anyone's thoughts. His own were swimming in his head, scrambled and muddled. _Wichser!_ He'd curse this boy to the seven hells and back! Suddenly, Schuldig noticed Ikeda standing in the doorway, a bewildered look on his face as he let Farfarello carry Omi past him.

He guarded himself then, hiding all traces of pain or thought. "As always, Ikeda," he sniggered, "you came too late to the battlefield."

For a moment, the man's eyes narrowed. _Heh, that's a first!_ Schuldig thought to himself, happy to have gotten some kind of rise out of the man. His child-like glee returned, the bully ready to pick a fight. "Why don't you go someplace where you'll be of use?"

Ikeda didn't say anything at first, watching Schuldig for a moment. The German grinned, knowing that Ikeda always did hesitate to be left alone with him. The fact that he could read his mind at any given moment, slip in and out of his thoughts at a mere whim, made Ikeda wary and nervous. _Oh, I wish I could see his mind now! _Schuldig thought wickedly, cursing Omi again. _He looks even more of a wreck! Crawford must've set his boot down again._ Schuldig brushed a hand through his mass of orange locks, waiting.

Finally, Ikeda stepped into the room. "We're almost ready to move," he reported. "Where's Crawford?" He took the injection gun from Schuldig like a good underling.

"Eh?" Schuldig mumbled, disappointed that the showdown ended so quick. Now he was bored, and felt the throbbing pain return. "How should I know?" he snapped, stalking past him. "We're busy, Ikeda." Without another word, he left the man in holding room three.

Ikeda watched him leave. His hands shook. There came a quiet beep, and the red light on the surveillance camera blinked off. The watch dogs were packing everything up; Schwarz was on the move now. Alone, he grinned.

* * *

Crawford stood quietly off to the side in the back alley, watching his men file out one by one, arms full of files and equipment. Dusk was fading into night, the light from the Schwarz base spilling into the darkened pathway. Soon, nothing would remain inside the office building but typical office work. Nothing suspicious, nothing out of the ordinary. And nothing left to trace Schwarz with, or link it to. Everything that was important to them would move with them to the temporary base. _Hopefully, they won't be able to track us there. At least for a time._

Time to think, that's what they needed right now. Time to act must wait until they knew what and who they were dealing with.

"That's it," said one of the Schwarz. "We're set."

Crawford nodded. "Then go." He waited a moment as the men filed into their own trucks and black sedans, leaving and taking separate routes. In the splash of light from the empty building, Crawford looked at his watch. Schuldig and Farfarello should have left with their prisoner by now. All was set, but time was running out.

Suddenly, he felt it. The flash, the thoughts that flew by in his mind; not memories, but the thoughts of what was yet to come. Crawford braced himself against the onslaught, closing his eyes, blinding himself to the present in order to understand the future he felt. But it washed away too quickly, and all he managed to catch was a flash of an unfamiliar face. A boy. Crawford cursed, himself and the situation - all of it was a disappointment.

He turned to enter the building one last time, set the alarms and lock up, the typical businessman, but he stopped short when he found Ikeda standing in the illuminated doorway, silently watching his superior.

Crawford sighed. "Is there a problem?" he questioned.

Ikeda shook his head. "Everyone has gone, and we'll re-establish contact as Schwarz tomorrow morning. For now, we're all just on business."

"Good. Then let's go." Crawford stepped up to the threshold, but Ikeda did not move out of his way. He met the man's dark eyes in frustration, but the expression he received in return was not the typical submissive response he was used to from this one. The look was thoughtful, hesitant. "Is there something else, Ikeda?"

"I received an email, sir," he said. "From them."

Crawford's brows knit together. "When?"

"Awhile ago."

He started at the response, and his gaze hardened. "Why wasn't I notified?"

"Because they didn't want to talk to you, sir."

"What?"

"It was a private message on my own computer," said Ikeda. And his eyes took on a dark look, an expression Crawford had never seen on the man before. He didn't need anything else to make him realize something was wrong. "They wanted to speak with the new leader of Schwarz."

Crawford went for the gun in his shoulder holster, but jerked when Ikeda slammed something against his collar bone. The traitor squeezed the trigger on the injection gun, giving Crawford the remaining serum left in the vial, enough to swiftly catapult the leader of Schwarz into darkness. Fighting the wave of unconsciousness washing over him, Crawford yanked out his gun, but his vision was too fuzzy to focus on a target even with his glasses. His hands were numb as he fell to his knees. _Shit!_

Ikeda sneered then, looking quite pleased with himself for once, and glared down on Crawford. "So I wasn't good enough for you? Well, someone else has seen my true potential." He smiled then, the flash of his teeth like a light in the darkness, but now Crawford couldn't see it. "They'd like to meet you, though."


	7. Sieben

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Sieben (Seven)

"Fool."

Yoji whispered the lone word gently, standing there holding the door to Omi's room ajar. He sighed at Ken in earnest. Siberian had stayed at Nagi Naoe's side all night, falling asleep in a fold-out chair next to the bed, a sheet twisted around him. He was still out, peaceful looking bathed in the early morning light. Yet, even though asleep, he looked tired, his brows low as if some heavy problem continued to weigh on his mind, intruding on his rest. Yoji shook his head. _You shouldn't be so soft-hearted, Ken._

Then his green gaze fell on the boy slumbering on the bed, and his eyes grew more serious. He hadn't waken up yet. Perhaps that was for the best, though, considering what that child was capable of. They'd no doubt need to restrain him, if they could, when he came to. Yoji entered the room as quietly as possible, moving to stand over Nagi. He wondered if he was sleeping now, or still unconscious. He took out his keychain, making a pitiful face at the key for his beloved car, now in ruins.

Then he took his micro flashlight between his fingers. Leaning over the Schwarz boy, Yoji carefully broke open one eye, shining the light directly into it, watching the reaction he got from the unfocused, navy gaze. Suddenly, Ken's soft voice broke the silent moment.

"Is it a concussion?"

Yoji straightened and turned to his friend. "You're awake, eh?" He shook his head, simultaneously shrugging his shoulders. "I'm no doctor, but his pupil dilated somewhat. If it's a concussion, then it's only slight. I'd say he'll be waking up soon."

Ken seemed energized by that, throwing off the cover and pulling himself out of the chair. He checked the boy's forehead, but his fever was completely gone. "I'll stay until he wakes up."

Yoji stared gravely at the other for some time. Finally, feeling slightly foolish, but with no reluctance, he said, "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Ken looked at him in surprise.

Shamefaced, Yoji added, "I should have stayed there to help Omi and Aya. Maybe if I hadn't been so hell-bent to get those damned Schwarz, then maybe -"

Ken brushed the apology away. "Don't," he said easily. "It's okay, Yoji. It was nobody's fault." He turned his eyes to the boy laying motionless under their combine gaze. "I don't even think we can blame Schwarz for this one. They may have taken Omi, but -" He hesitated, thinking back. "But, maybe by kidnapping him, they saved him from the blast."

Yoji made an uncertain sound. "Out of the frying pan," said he darkly, "and into the fire." When Ken made as if to reply, Yoji cut in quickly, "I was talking about all of us, Schwarz, too."

Ken had to agree with him there. They stayed like that for some while, until Ken began working his sore, stiff arm, stretching his aching muscles. Yoji said, "I'll watch the kid. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine," said Ken. He stopped working his joints and remained still, watching Nagi breathe. Yoji knew he was being stubborn, and to Ken's defiant demeanor, he could only comply.

"I'll make you some coffee then before I go."

Ken quickly looked over at him as he turned to leave for the kitchenette. "Go? Go where?"

"I'm going to talk to Manx. See if she's heard anything yet. I'll go crazy if I sit around this cramped place much longer."

"What did Aya say about that?"

Yoji hesitated for a second, but it was short-lived. "Aya isn't here."

He saw Ken's own thoughtful expression, but he too was unconcerned. Aya always seemed to disappear before their morning routine would begin. He had his own reasons, ones he would never share with them. They left him to it, knowing he would always come back when he was ready; he'd always come home.

* * *

The sunlight was faint in the dawn, but it still filtered in through the branches of the maple tree, making a web-like pattern of shadows across the park bench beneath it, and across the thoughtful face of the young man seated there. Aya was oblivious to the happy little song of the birds, floating effortlessly along on the chilly, autumn wind to the backdrop of a serene, sapphire sky. He paid no attention to the morning joggers, the children heading off to school, or the adults on their way to work. It was all too mechanical for him. Every day happened as it had yesterday for these people, as if time had no effect on them in the big picture. They were naïve; they were innocent.

They were the ones he fought so hard to protect. He wanted to make sure they kept their everyday routine, their easy-going lives unburdened by the Darkness creeping through the black velvet folds of the underworld. They had all the time in the world to enjoy life. He, on the other hand, was running out of time.

What was going on, and what did it have to do with Weiß? Or rather, with Kritiker. He wasn't worried. More annoyed than much else. He hated to be so misinformed. Such a thing could only lead to destruction, or a trap. Aya sighed a soundless breath, and he fingered the rolled up, fresh morning newspaper in his lap. He always picked one up on his way back to the trailer before work, but he hardly ever read it. For him, it was always the clichéd "yesterday's old news". All too often he created the news through missions. The outcomes were the facts normal people could read about the next morning.

And every morning he went to start his day free from the worry and anxious thoughts. Every mission seemed to take him farther away, but he needed to make sure the dangers never found their way back. That was his biggest fear. He had made sure to "die" that time, when the museum collapsed after the ritual. Only through his loss, could she continue to survive free from the pain and sorrow he helped to create. She could only benefit from his death. She could forget, but he never would.

Aya closed his eyes for a moment, and a rare occurrence lit his handsome features. A gentle, sad smile parted his lips, an expression as close to being happy as he would ever come. He was thinking about that morning. She was looking well, content with the life she was living. And she was growing up. Finally, she could live, becoming more of a woman. She was beautiful, and looked more like their mother every time he saw her.

Saw her, but only from a distance outside Mamoe's shop. He wondered how she was getting by in school, being so far behind. If she had a boyfriend, what she enjoyed doing outside of the flower shop. She had become great friends with Sakura and both of them survived, without him. That's how it must be in order for her to be happy. For them both to be happy. And as long as they were safe and happy, he could continue to be a part of Weiß with contentment. But he needed to see her for his own well being, not so selfish, at least once each day. If only from afar.

Suddenly, he heard the approaching footsteps before the pleasant voice. "Good morning!" Aya opened his eyes casually, without replying, as the young man seated himself next to him on the park bench. "Gonna be a lovely day!" he commented idly.

"It would seem so." Aya summed up the man with one flick of his trained gaze, slightly frustrated with the useless prattle, and the stranger's untimely appearance. He was young, perhaps only twenty to twenty-two years in age. He had unruly blue-black hair that held a heavy silver sheen, cut crudely at the nape of his neck; there was a single, curling gray wisp over one hazel eye. Pressed black business suit, a briefcase he placed on his lap, and fine features on a face that seemed nothing but friendly.

Aya was instantly on his guard.

"You don't look like you're off to work, too," said the stranger flippantly. He smiled nicely.

Aya replied, "Actually, I am."

"Dress down day, huh?" His smile brightened as he chuckled. His voice was deep, but immensely quiet and calm. He seemed like someone no one would take notice of, soft-spoken. But there was a hint of something in his voice, a hint at some hardened tone of someone used to being obeyed. A dark note. "What do you do for a living, if I may be so bold?"

Then the man turned, and Aya saw it. On the other side of his lapel there was a name tag. A laminated card clipped to his suit, with no name, no rank. Absolutely no words except one bar code. A simple statement and quick identification, like the one he found on the corpse at the Taro warehouse. This man, whoever he was, belonged to Kritiker.

Without giving anything away, Aya stood then, taking his unread paper with him. "Excuse me, but I have to be to work," he explained casually, as if that would compensate for his being rude.

"What a shame," said the cool voice behind him. "I was hoping we could discuss your sister."

Aya stopped dead in his tracks, his violet eyes widened in shock. _My sister?_ He turned then, easily. If this man were an enemy, then he shouldn't leave his back to him. That was the quickest way to end up dead. And yet, if that were the case, he had plenty of time up until now to do it. Then what exactly was going on?

"What?"

"She's looking awfully well."

"What do you want with me?"

The young man smiled. This time, there was no pleasantry in his smile, and no friendliness behind his eyes. He was collected, calculating everything accordingly. A cat ready to spring. This was another trap. "Indeed, she does seem to be happy and healthy now. We could end all that. Easily."

Aya's hand crushed around the paper in his trembling fist, and he lowered his gaze so that his eyes became dangerously dark and vacant under his blood-colored hair. To protect her, the killer was coming to the surface. Only this time, there was no business-like mission to back him. He was even more dangerous now.

The man stood, calmly, sleek and tall, unperturbed by the cold hearted assassin he faced, his hands inside his pant pockets. Aya could only assume they knew what to expect from him. Even without his katana, he'd fight any way he could, but without a weapon, he was at a disadvantage. He could only wait for this stranger to play his cards, open the match.

"Unless you want us to do something rather gruesome to baby Aya, you'll come with us. Now," said he, smiling cruelly. "If you wouldn't mind?"

_Us?_ With perfect timing, Aya heard the barely audible click of a gun's safety. He turned to see another man, slightly younger than this one, leaning against the base of the maple tree behind them. He wore all black as well, tall frame hidden in long folds of a leather trench coat. His hair was wild and brown-black, eyes slanted and full of a glee seen in a child's eyes; a bully ready to unleash a fight. One arm was crossed over his chest, the other held a gun, the barrel resting in the crook of the crossed arm, hidden. He titled his head at Aya with a grin, gaudy, dangle earrings catching the rays of the morning sun.

"If you wouldn't mind," he mimicked, voice thicker and more baritone. The grin deepened into a full, nasty smile, baring pointed incisors. The other was a leader, and this man was the brawn. Not only that, but he was excited about it. "On your best behavior, and do as my brother says."

He leveled the aim of the gun's muzzle, equipped with a silencer to keep the morning civilians unaware. They would take him any way they could. Aya knew that. And for his sister, he knew he had no choice but to go with them. Them: Betrüger. The Deceivers.


	8. Acht

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Acht (Eight)

As much as it hurt, he finally saw a faint glimmer, like a star in the night, and opened his eyes. Light, as searing hot as any fire and pure white energy, surged to greet him, splitting through his eyes into the back of his skull, and it felt like it would drive his head apart, cut in twine. The pain was too much, the light too bright after the endless dark, and Nagi tried to fight it off by closing his eyes again. His head was pounding; his own breathing was loud in his ears, resounding in his chest. He could feel the light still tingling against his skin; and he also felt the coolness of tears from his tortured eyes, caught in his lashes. Every little sensation - it felt like a weight after being unconscious.

_Alive? I'm still alive? But... what happened?_ Slowly, he began drifting back to himself, memories stirring in the back of his mind. That's right. He'd been killed by Weiß. No, not killed. But he fell back there at the abandoned warehouse. He recalled the explosion, the car crash, and the fallen Weiß that he couldn't shoot. _Schuldig will be mad._

Schwarz. Was he still with them? All the questions rolling around in his head did little to alleviate the headache and confusion he felt, and still the white light came through his vision, like dawn on the horizon. To find out what exactly happened, he needed to suffer that light. Slowly, he opened his eyes again, returning to the glow of the morning. He blinked lazily; his eyelids felt as if they each weighed a ton. He tried moving his head, only to feel a stab of pain in his neck, which only shot up to increase his headache tenfold. He wondered if perhaps he was paralyzed. But he could flex his hands, wiggle his toes, and feel the aches and pains throughout every muscle. Lucky. He felt so tired and heavy; he could sense every fiber in the pillow under his head, every smooth fold in the sheet nestled over his body. It was all so strange.

But not so strange as the realization that he was lying in a bed not his own. The ceiling before his eyes, when he finally focused on it, was unfamiliar and cheery-looking; a drop-panel ceiling of white, textured with nooks and holes, held up by a lattice work of pale blue support lines. This was certainly not Schwarz headquarters, and it didn't appear to be a hospital.

His voice sounded deep and hoarse, ringing in his own ears, when he finally found it. "Where...?"

A surprised voice answered him. "You're awake?"

The footsteps were loud and throbbing as the person approached the bed. The silhouette of the figure blocked out the harsh light, and Nagi blinked at the person. He knew him, but from where? Then in a rushing whirl, it hit him; the voice, the face, the very look in the person's eyes.

_Wei__ß__!_

Without realizing it, Nagi pitched forward, a thousand questions, a million demands, and an immediate urge to fight back tearing into his mind. With a thought, with his power, he could get free. He gripped the sheet in one small, pale hand, ready to move. And in that hasty second, it all plunged down on him, and every agony he experienced before came rushing over him, his senses screaming at him. His body was cursing him for moving too soon and too fast. Nagi groaned helplessly as he clutched his head, churning, everything was spinning. He felt nauseous, like he would faint. The strength left his body.

"Whoa there!" he heard the voice say with concern as he felt strong hands catch him, hold him; he felt someone ease him back down onto the bed. Gently. This was Weiß? "You shouldn't try to move. You were hit in the head pretty badly. You've been unconscious for almost a day."

Nagi closed his eyes, swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat. He worked his jaw, swallowed again, and finally found his voice, though it came out as a vague whisper. "Where am I?"

He heard Weiß make a breathy sound. It almost sounded sympathetic. The last thing he needed was pity from the enemy. But it was his words which shocked him even more. "It's okay," he said at last. "You're safe."

_Safe? A member of Schwarz safe with __Weiß__?_ Crawford would surely have laughed at that, and no doubt Schuldig would have a dozen sarcastic jokes for it. But this certainly was no teasing matter. He was there, caught by Weiß. Sick and helpless. But _safe?_

"Just rest," he said. "I'll go get you some water."

He heard him leave, and Nagi opened his eyes once more. He thoughtfully watched him close the door, wondering what was going on, why Weiß was treating him kindly. Then, he heard the tapping click of a key being turned in the lock, and it set his mind at ease. He was a prisoner, but that was good. That was the reality he wanted. Schwarz and Weiß. There should be no trust there.

* * *

Outside the now locked door, Ken thought to himself, "A little more. Only a little longer, and we can find you, Omi." He was thankful the boy was up. Now they could track down Schwarz at last and rescue Bombay. His thoughts right now were only for their missing member, and the hope they could get him back using the boy-Schwarz. But, why did he feel guilty about thinking that?

_Could it be? Do I feel... sorry... for that boy? _

_

* * *

_

The drive seemed to last an entire lifetime to Aya. He had been dutifully blind folded once the car of the two men, apparently brothers, left the local area of Tokyo and headed out on the major highway. He had no idea where they were taking him, or even why, but he did know who they were; these were Betrüger, the Deceivers who had sent them into the trap. Obviously, they were not happy with the fact that Weiß had escaped. He didn't have to wonder how they knew; the oldest was Kritiker. Whatever was going on, he knew that much for certain. Kritiker was now a major threat. But who exactly was the enemy?

In his mind, Aya estimated it had been about a good half hour to forty-five minutes before the car began to slow. Residential area? He could hear the sound of a gravel drive under the wheels, and the uncomfortable ride made it clear they were not in any well-kept public district. It was too much like the other night...

He was completely prepared for whatever happened next. All he had to do was bear in mind these men knew about his younger sister, and they would easily use her against him without regret. With that thought, Aya was ready to fight, and to accept the worst to come for himself. The squeak of the brakes announced their arrival at whatever destination they had planned, and quickly Aya felt a pair of hands grab him by the scruff of his collar and haul him out of the vehicle. All he could do was comply. For his sister, to find out what was going on, he followed their orders without a word.

The two men who had "escorted" him had remained completely silent the entire way; even now, they spoke not a word to either each other or to him. They weren't in charge, Aya realized. They were following orders, quickly and to the point. If they spoke, they might interfere with whatever their commander had in mind. He was learning a little bit more... Was this the new agency group that Kritiker feared?

Unperturbed by anything, Aya moved wherever he was forced to, through a doorway into a building that, even blind folded, Aya could sense was anything but homey; it was dark, the air damp and old. It was like stepping into an closet of an abandoned house. But the air was cool, and he felt a draft, and heard the silence of what could only be a big building. There was no smell of ashes and death, so it wasn't the Taro Minor warehouse. That would be too guarded now. There was a different feel to this place; it was more "used" and worked in. This was their home-base.

Suddenly, Aya felt the cool, slick feel of a gun's muzzle pressed against the base of his skull, warningly, and the blind fold was torn off. He merely blinked once, adjusting his sight to the new light, and looked at the men who had brought him. The younger one with the excited air and earrings wore a slight grin still, his eyes fixed on Aya, who saw the challenge hidden deep within his gaze. He held the gun. This one, he quickly realized, was one who bared watching. But it was the eldest of the two, with the silver sheen in his hair and Kritiker badge, who did the talking.

"Don't try anything suspicious," he warned. His voice had changed drastically from the friendly fake tone he used in the park, around civilians; it was smoother, almost too soft to be heard - firm to the point of being dangerous. "Or we'll just kill you now."

Aya tilted his head in compliance. They wouldn't shoot him at this point in the game anyway, not after they had brought him all this way for a reason. He realized their threats, at least for now, were empty. For now, he could go along with them and learn the truth. The young one suddenly shoved him in the back.

"Move," he growled, smiling; his earrings caught the faded light in a twinkle, a glimmer mimicked in his eyes. Aya's eyes grew cold to match, the perfect killer of Weiß, and the other smiled to show teeth.

He was led up a flight of stairs in a badly lit, practically ruined, office building, something that could have been a business storage facility or even a small garage in the far past. The stairs echoed their footsteps throughout the place, and Aya managed a quick glimpse of the aging building. It was nearly empty save for a few work benches, bins and filing cabinets. Below them, three parked cars, including the black sedan he had been taken in. Not entirely unused and old; what were they up to? Everything had an organized feel, like any other business. Similar to Kritiker.

At the top of the flight, they moved through a thin corridor, wide enough only to allow two abreast, and came to a door, unlocked but closed. The older brother rapped once on the door with his knuckles, producing a hollow echo; he didn't bother to wait for a reply, but opened the door and led them inside.

It was an ordinary office, one window partly blinded, and scarcely furnished. But Aya received a great shock to find two very familiar faces inside waiting for him. One was their target who had gotten away, the woman who worked for Taro Minor. And the other was Brad Crawford from Schwarz.

Crawford met Aya's gaze, holding it for a time with his eyes which were full of rage and defiance, and slightly unfocused, as if he'd been drugged previously. The Schwarz leader still managed to stand tall and resolute, as if he were in control of the situation, but his hands, balled into tight fists at his sides, betrayed his anger at being held captive. He was unbound, like Aya, but the woman who stood behind him, herself looking like an office assistant in her pinstripe suit, held a revolver firmly to his back, guarding Crawford's every move. _What is this?_

"You are -" Aya asked softly, barely showing disbelief in his deep, resounding voice, the question open to everyone present. The voice that answered him shocked him even more.

"Not the one who summoned you here."

Both Aya and Crawford, whose hard eyes merely rolled in that direction with recognition, obviously previously introduced to the hidden one in the room, looked to the speaker. It was a delicate male voice, deep with authority, but still soft and weak in maturity. The person was standing beside the window, his back to the room. From the glare of the outside light, Aya had not seen him standing there, arms folded neatly behind his back, awaiting his appearance. He was still incredibly young.

He turned then, saying, "I asked that Mr. Crawford be brought to see me as well." The voice was unfamiliar, but as soon as he turned about, Aya gasped quietly, his jaw going slack as the recognition hit him like a full blow to the face. The black mass of hair, the dark eyes, the fine features of a sixteen year old made devilish with a smarmy expression.

"Akira Yori!"

* * *

"_Verdammt!_"

Schuldig slammed the flat mouth piece of his compact cellular phone shut with a painful click, waited a moment, then violently threw the entire thing against the far wall, where it noisily shattered and flew apart above Farfarello's head. The pale skinned Irishman simply watched each piece of what was once a modern day technological wonder clatter to the floor around him. He alone seemed unconcerned, but the sole eyebrow above his amber eye was drawn thoughtfully.

Through a growl, Schuldig said, "He's still not answering!"

Farfarello watched the German begin pacing the floor of the apartment once again, wearing a track in the cheap carpeting. They had taken temporary solace at Schuldig's place when Crawford hadn't shown that night at the Schwarz underground lair. It was an inconvenience when he hadn't answered his phone the first time they tried to contact him; the second was frustrating an hour later. Soon, Schuldig was hitting the redial every five minutes. When he hadn't shown by dawn, it was a bad sign.

"Schwarz was suppose to reconvene this morn," Farfarello finally said, as if the fact didn't matter, or that his opinion didn't mean anything to the German at the moment. He was merely talking as if to himself, something he actually did often.

"We can't regroup without Crawford," Schuldig said. His expression was firm as he walked, his eyes fixed into space. "If he never shows - this could be bad for Schwarz. To keep away any threat, it would be wiser to stay disbanded for a time. That way it would be harder to get to us."

"One kill at a time," the other mused. _Click!_ A switchblade suddenly appeared in his hand, and he began preening over it like the thing was his lover. His eye shone every time light reflected off the sharp blade.

"As opposed to a mass murder," Schuldig muttered in agreement. How could this happen? Did this new enemy have Schwarz right where they wanted them? "This could be bad," he repeated gravely.

They remained in a thoughtful silence for a time, neither one daring to voice their worry to the other. At long last, still playing with his little blade, Farfarello asked, "What of him?"

Schuldig stopped long enough to look over to his bedroom door, which was locked and chained. They had kept the boy-Weiß with them, for reassurance; he was still very valuable to them as a hostage, whatever the situation. But it was difficult to keep him in such a casual place, with only the pair to guard him. The boy was still out like a light, slumbering deep, but he wouldn't stay like that forever. He was still handcuffed, and Schuldig had made certain to tie his legs at the ankles as to avoid another _uncomfortable_ face off like last time, but still -

Schuldig sighed heavily. "I'm not ready to kill him yet," he responded. "And like hell I'm letting him go." He began pacing again.

Farfarello used the ensuing silence to begin tracing the tip of the blade over the skin of his left arm, outlining muscles and discerning tissue and sinew. He was bored, and his broken mind sought out the only form of entertainment he knew. One side of his lip curled away from his teeth in a grin, and he was about to drive the blade inward, through his own skin, to watch the blood pool, when Schuldig snapped suddenly, "Don't you even think about it, Farfie! I'm not paying for the steam cleaning for the carpets and hardwood. Blood's a bitch of a stain to get out."

Farfarello fell back against the wall with disappointment, stretching out his legs in front of himself and snapping the blade closed like a sulking child. But he really felt nothing about the order at all. He was flexible to the wishes of his comrades, much like a dog remains loyal to the commands of its master. Partnership? Friendship? It was a bit of both. Soon, he began tapping the butt of the switch blade against the floor, producing a muffled _thwump_ from the carpets.

Suddenly, Schuldig went for the phone in the cradle on the wall. He dialed; waited, the other hand on his hip in annoyance. "Ikeda's not even answering, the bloody coward!" he growled. He waited some more. Then, he thumbed the line dead, and gently set the phone back down.

Then he violently smashed his curled fist into the wall beside it with an echoing effect; every wall in the apartment vibrated like an aftershock of an earthquake. Somewhere in the living quarters below, a dog barked twice. Schuldig leaned his head against that trembling fist, eyes squeezed shut in complete, frustrated rage. He ground his teeth and tried to reach Crawford in another way, through his mind.

He knew each of the other three heads of Schwarz from the very presence of their minds. His gift was as a mind reader, but he could also feel, he could sense another from the sensation of their individual minds. Schwarz knew his tricks and calls, knew when to respond and how to shut his mind out, but in times of crisis, he hoped Crawford would be smart enough to leave his mind open to him. He wouldn't be able to tell him what was happening unless he thought about it, but if something happened to him…

Schuldig opened his eyes, defeated again in his attempts. _I can't sense him,_ he thought to himself. _Has he closed me out, or is he dead?_ Or else, he could be too far away, or Schuldig was too frustrated to find him. _Scheiße!_ Schuldig wanted to snicker bitterly. _Gift my ass! _

Aloud he mumbled in frustration, "I can't even feel Nagi."

"Eh?" said Farfarello.

Schuldig straightened and turned to face the other. "I was thinking," he said, "that maybe when chibi- Weiß comes to, it's time to start looking for our missing members."

Farfarello smirked, and let loose the blade in the sheath once more. "All God's children seek answers to life," said he, wickedly preaching.

Schuldig returned the smirk. "Then let us find some answers, heh?"

* * *

Inside the secured, dark room, Omi heard the entire conversation, though most of it was a confusing whir; he still felt extremely tired, but he managed to fight off the effects of the drug and remain alert. He had no idea where he was now. Though, this time he awoke to find himself fully bound, both hands and feet, which drew a satisfied grin from the boy. At least he had made an impression on them. He looked to see he was in a normal, king-sized bed atop a cushioned comforter in black silk and overstuffed pillows. The bedroom on a whole was rather simple, the room of a bachelor rarely home. Shutters were sealed on the two small windows, but allowed enough misty light for Omi to discern that it was morning.

_But what's going on? The two Schwarz members sound worried. Why? _And, he pondered, what did it mean for Weiß?

One thing was for certain, he realized with no fear; he had better prepare himself to face their inquisition.


	9. Neun

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Neun (Nine)

Akira Yori laughed, and it was full of a jubilant, youthful pleasure, an ordinarily happy, sweet sound that would make a parent smile. His face lit up like any pleased, gleeful child. Aya's eyes narrowed; he sounded so damned _innocent_!

"You seem stunned, Aya-kun!" he said over his mirth. The laughter faded into a charming smile. "How delightful!" He turned from the window to seat himself at the chair behind the polished oak desk. He folded his hands atop the surface, resting his chin against them. The smile never wavered. "I must admit, when I heard that every Schwarz and Weiß member escaped the warehouse alive, I had thought we were found out. Good to know that I over-estimated you." His eyes sparkled, and he held Aya's killer gaze. "You're not as clever as you seem, Weiß."

Finally, Brad Crawford broke his silence, saying in his regal, baritone voice, "I assume this is your kidnapped boy?" Akira laughed again, and Aya stared at him long and hard, sizing this mere school boy up in an instant; what he recognized he did not like in the least.

"Sorry," Akira Yori replied. "A little deception to get you where we wanted you to be. Schwarz's channels are highly advanced, but far from fool-proof. A little hacking, and we were inside your systems in a heartbeat. You might want to work on your computers, Mr. Crawford."

This time it was Crawford's turn to narrow his eyes dubiously, his glasses catching the light enough to hide his contempt. Akira sat back in his chair, cocking his head at the two men thoughtfully. He was beaming, pleased with the outcome after all. Aya said heavily, "You are the Deceiver?"

The boy seemed to brighten. "Betrüger," he replied, "is all of us. We are all out to deceive those of you who underestimate our powers. I know, the scrolling of the name on toy clowns and dead bodies may seem a tad mellow dramatic, but the effect worked nonetheless. I bet you guys would like an explanation to this little mystery of mine? Or have you figured it out yet?" His smile was growing quite annoying.

When neither made an attempt to comply to his game, the boy continued, "You see, gentlemen, it's rather quite simple." He waved a hand to the woman behind Crawford. "Aya-kun, I believe you know Heinke. She works closely under my father as his assistant and head of the secretarial staff. And you've just met Nardus and Siem."

The excitable young one, Nardus, grinned, showing his fanged incisors. Siem made no response at all from his stance against the wall, arms folded over his chest, hiding his name code. "Siem is Kritiker," informed Akira, "just like dear Miss Manx. If you were to scan his code, you'd find codename Korat. He's been very helpful in leaking Kritiker's critical files to me. As of course was the late Himalayan, who unfortunately developed a conflicting conscious at the last minute." His tone was truly uncaring.

"My father runs Kritiker, partly, but he is far from the real source of information. So it was mostly through Siem that I was able to learn all about Weiß, the great White Hunters. And Schwarz, since both groups have been closely monitored by the agency. Plus, a few other organizations I'm sure you don't care to know about."

"Organizations?" Crawford said, arching a brow. He moved to bring his hand up, and the woman, Heinke, rammed the nose of her gun roughly into his spine. Crawford didn't give her the satisfaction but continued to lift his hand, simply to push the rim of his glasses back up against the bridge of his nose. His eyes were smiling cruelly, and Aya, had they not been enemies, would have admired him his resolution. "I assume you mean underworld organizations?" he continued.

"Naturally. Groups of drug lords, assassins and thieves, just like Weiß and Schwarz."

Crawford made an amused little "humph" sound deep within his throat. He said, "But we're different."

Akira shrugged. "Why would you think that? Neither justice nor justified, both of you are only killers by nature."

It was Aya who responded. "Is that the reason you fear us?"

Suddenly, Nardus turned, lowering the aim of his gun but raising his free arm, and with his open hand, slapped Aya brutally across the face. Aya caught himself on the toe of his foot to keep from falling, but his hair flew in tangles across his cheek and lower jaw, which were now vividly red and stinging. Nardus said in his rough voice, "Watch your mouth."

"Now, now," said Akira, "let's all play nice from now on."

"Heh?" Nardus made a boyishly unconcerned sound, easily amused, and yet at the same time, he backed down on the order. However, Aya saw him exchange a heavy look with his brother, a look that was anything but happy with the current situation. In his mind, he thought it possible that this group wasn't so tightly joined by will or ambition. A chance -?

"We fear no one," said Akira firmly. "Caution is another story. But you're right, Mr. Crawford. I did see you as different. Schwarz has long been an infamous name in Tokyo according to Kritiker files, and after the untimely demise and disbanding of Eszett, you were the prime leaders in underworld activities. You're group is highly different in that you've managed to garner power of unearthly sources. A mind-reader, a man incapable of feeling pain, a boy telekinetic, and yourself, who can foresee the future." Crawford bowed his head as if given a compliment. "Very impressive, yet I have been unable to ascertain your true goals. Not even Kritiker can guess at it."

"Our goals," said the addressee, "are ours to know alone."

Akira smiled again. "So, unlike Eszett, you seek to take turns sitting on the throne of God, while making the Devil your bitch?"

Crawford smiled then, truly amused at the analogy. He said, "Something like that."

"Something like world domination?"

"Nothing so trivial."

"Really?" Akira's young smile returned. "You think that sounds trivial? Perhaps that's where you and I differ. Except, on some odd dimensional plane, we might be the same in our goals. I do not seek world domination. That's something for the fiction writers, not really feasible in the real world. My ambitions are merely human."

"Human?" Aya chimed in. "You mean greed?"

"A vile word, but you may use it if you wish," replied the boy with the man's authoritative tone. " Weiß is my true worry." His revelation was a tad surprising and blunt, but he explained, "You seek nothing for yourselves. You work on principle alone to mete out justice to those lawless beyond the reach of our ordinary protective system. You are killers for the weak and helpless. Commendable." He turned to face Aya again, and he said darkly, "But stupid. You get nothing in return, not even a thank you."

"That is not why we became Weiß."

"And _that_ is exactly why I think I may like you, Aya-kun. And the others of Weiß. Your personal motives are far from the ideal perfect world scenario you seem to fight for. You all became Weiß out of your own selfish reasons of vengeance and need. That selfishness, that's what I can work with to start.

"I am not an evil person," he said, standing to once more stare out the window, to watch the morning lag on to afternoon. "I, too, seek vengeance against those I deem in the wrong. Just like Weiß. And like Schwarz, I am fighting against the world that has not accepted me. I've been unwanted since the day I was born. My father is a pure businessman, and never had time for me. My mother… did you know he killed her? You wouldn't see headlines like that in the papers, of course. Not for my big important father." Akira bowed his head, lost now to his own demons.

"She hated him, too, I suppose. Even when I was little, I heard the fighting. My father would escape to work, while my mother would find comfort in liquor and drugs, or what-have-you. Father wouldn't acknowledge the problem because it was an embarrassment to him. At least that's what he told me after her funeral. I was only six at the time, and all I remember is my hate for him."

Those in the room could do nothing but watch the sixteen year old boy at the window, who was speaking in an otherworldly voice, reminiscing about memories and staring at something that only he could see. Aya knew he hid his eyes from them all on purpose. Akira didn't want them to see his pain and anguish.

But to Aya it was an unreasonable excuse. Everyone had their own problems, their private torments and demons. It could not be used to justify anything like this. Some might see Akira Yori as forgivable because he was still young; after all, "people change". To Aya, he saw Akira's youth as an even greater threat; he was all the more deadly because it was all the boy knew. He was serious, and in time his vengeance would only cause more wide spread suffering.

"After she killed herself," Akira continued after a time, turning back around to face the group, his emotions behind a perfect mask. "I swore I'd never forgive him. I am not so useless as he may think. None of us are. Behold the criminal," he waved to Nardus, then to Siem, and lastly to Heinke, "the third-rate underling, and the mere secretary. What we've managed to create in our spare time-" he smiled, "-will change this world into our ideal."

Aya said thickly, "And that's where the organizations come in, is it?"

"Indeed," he replied, the annoyingly bright smile returning. "My goal is to combine all underworld forces, and take Tokyo by the throat."

"With Betrüger at the helm?"

"Of course."

Crawford added, "You sound a lot like Mr. Takatori in your ambitions." Aya shot the other a hateful look, and in that instant, he remembered why Crawford and he were enemies.

"Reiji Takatori had the right ambitions and idea, however, he was not so smart as all that," stated Akira, his tone all at once proud and offended at the same time. "I will succeed where he failed. And it all rests on one thing." He looked from Crawford to Aya. "Schwarz has motives I do not understand, and I saw that as a threat. But whether or not I understand may not matter if we can see eye to eye. Weiß works for my father, and for the good of the many. Kritiker would as soon have my head, and for that reason they would have sent you against me. Weiß is the puppet controlled by Kritiker."

Aya thought about that. Weiß was being used? He had always known it somehow, but on some level, everyone is used once in awhile. What did it matter, however, when you destroyed the parasites of the dark, those demons that preyed upon the weak without fear of being caught? Akira's assumptions of Kritiker were one-sided at best.

"That," Yori Akira said, "is why I tried to kill Weiß and Schwarz."

"We would have been in your way?" Crawford said, shaking his head as if it were a small reason for killing off Schwarz. Yet, there was an understanding in his demeanor; in fact, he had tried numerous times to kill off Weiß for working against his plans, and they took down Eszett for that same reason alone. Aya didn't like where this topic of conversation was going.

"But," Akira piped up gaily, his whole attitude jumping back and forth, "if I can't see you dead, I'd like to persuade you to join us. The same offer goes to all those who work the underworld. In order to create my ideal Tokyo, we all must combine our mutual dark sides and fight, not against each other, but those with the wrong ideas about the world."

"And you think your 'ideal Tokyo' will ever come to be?" Aya said, as close to a scoff as his steadfast demeanor ever came.

"With Betrüger, Weiß and Schwarz working together," Akira countered, "I think we can truly unleash Hell itself."

"If we refuse?" Aya asked.

"Then this time, I will kill you. All of you." His eyes went cold, an icy look equal to Aya's own. "I know how to get to you, and I know how to get to those you care about. Your little sister and Sakura-chan might both find themselves in a gruesome situation where, I can guarantee you, they will be subjected to nightmares before given the relief of death." His expression turned mockingly sorrowful. "You wouldn't want to see that, now would you?"

He left that moment alone, letting the gravity of his offer hit home. They had no other choice, and that's exactly the situation he wanted them in. But neither Crawford nor Aya said anything, so Akira spoke up for them. "You'll probably want to confer with your comrades? After all, you all work as one, right?" He sounded truly charming and innocent. "I'll give you one day. No more. Have your answers by then."

He began to turn his back to them, a dismissal, but interjected, as if it just sprung to mind, "Oh, and if you come to me with a refusal, come armed to the teeth. You will need it, to be sure."

He nodded to his men, and Nardus grabbed Aya by the arm, jerking him to the door and hauling him out. Crawford was escorted out in the same manner by Siem. Akira, half turned, watched them go, then he turned completely away and said, "Monitor them, Heinke-chan, if you would?"

The older woman stood there for a moment more, watching the boy at the window with a forlorn expression. She never dared to speak it, but she hated it when he shut her out. After all this time together... Finally, as if reminding herself, she said, "Of course. I'll let Siem and Nardus know."

* * *

The mid-afternoon sun was glaring down on them when Crawford and Aya were finally left by the woman of Betrüger. They found themselves in the midday hub of the park in Tokyo city. She left them without a word, driving away to disappear in a mass of traveling cars. Neither bothered to watch the direction she took. Knowing their hideout wouldn't help either Weiß or Schwarz in the least now. The enemies stood there silently for a time, not quite knowing what to do or say. But finally Crawford shattered their dark moment by turning his back to Aya, leaving him.

But Aya's dead serious tone stopped him in his tracks. "Where is Omi?"

Crawford looked at him over his shoulder, a grin playing on his face. "Don't think this changes anything, Weiß," he said. "Whatever happens, at this moment in time, we are still at odds with each other. Now if you'll excuse me."

He started to continue on his way, alone, when instantly he found he dared not move. The vision suddenly slammed him full in the mind, quick flashes: Schuldig, and Farfarello... and a very unpleasant outcome for their prisoner if he didn't get back in time. _Damn Schuldig's temper!_ But he also saw something else. A mere shadow of a glimpse at something that didn't quite make sense. Schwarz and Weiß... together?

"We will fight the same enemy this time," he heard Aya muse, speaking the same words he had said to Schuldig just the night past.

"Yes," he agreed thoughtfully, coming free of the future. Then, without realizing it, Crawford turned back to face the Weiß member with a serious look; what they had just said suddenly dawned on him. "We will fight," he repeated again. Schwarz and Weiß.

Aya met his gaze. "There will be no tomorrow for the Dark Beasts," he said thickly.

Crawford gazed at him strangely; now he understood that oddity he had just seen. A premonition of the decision that must be made.

They both had decided.


	10. Zehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Zehn (Ten)

"So you haven't been able to unearth anything, either, huh?"

Yoji had to suppress a heavy sigh at that. Neither Weiß nor Kritiker were getting anywhere with this mission. Back in the old days, he and his partner would have already been reassigned to another case, stuck at such a dead end as this. _And Asuka would have been raising hell. She always did get so fired up._ A sad smile worked its way to his lips, but it vanished fast when Manx spoke up.

"Unfortunately that's it, I'm afraid." She folded her hands on the top of her desk, staring straight ahead, but her eyes weren't focused on Yoji, who sat in the chair in front of her. She was staring into space, thinking. Finally, she said, "I haven't had the heart to tell him, but I think Mr. Yori's son may already be dead."

"You think so, too?" Yoji responded. She nodded, and he continued, "It's been entirely too long a time, with no word from anyone about him. My guess is they kidnapped the boy just to get to us. Weiß was the original target all along."

Manx seemed to ponder his statement for a minute. Then she shrugged. " Weiß and Schwarz. It seems they were the motive, but what does it have to do with Kritiker then?"

"When you think about it, we are all part of the same string." Yoji stood from his chair and went to the window in her small office. He watched the people outside for a time, pedestrians and officers on the move alike.

He was glad Manx had managed to get her job back working for the police department after Reiji Takatori was killed. After all, her position was an extraordinary help to Kritiker, and of course Weiß, to be so close to the inside in hunting out the Darkness. Kritiker agents held down a multitude of important government jobs that would help locate the targets and gather information. But still, Yoji always felt entirely too awkward going to the station to see her, despite the fact that the building housed other government levels as well. _That's right, folks, I'm just here to get a license for the family dog! Riiiight! _

He finally turned away from the window, asking, "No leads on this Bertrüger group?"

"None. Whoever they are," she said, "they've managed to work in total secret until now."

Yoji gave a wry grin. "They're good." Manx didn't say anything.

There came a quick knock on the closed door to her office. For some reason, Yoji felt like maybe he ought to try hiding himself, and while the thought of ducking under her desk right below her feet had other benefits, he decided to play it cool. The strong _silent_ type. He crossed his arms over his chest casually as Manx affirmed, "Yes?"

Yoji relaxed when a familiar face opened the door. Surprisingly, it was Birman, the raven-haired beauty of Kritiker. She shyly smiled when she saw him standing there, and in her eyes were a thousand greetings and even more questions. But by her sheer body language (Yoji's specialty) he knew instantly that something was wrong. So did Manx, because she quickly rose to her feet just as another joined Birman inside the door. He was tall, with dark hair that reflected a silver sheen. Both wore lanyards that ID'ed them as being with the Internal Affairs office, but also, tagged to their suits, were badges like Manx's; Kritiker agents. _Not a good sign…_

"What happened?" inquired Manx, keeping her tone straight-forward, despite her rigid and worried stance.

It was the man who answered, whose I.A. identification proclaimed his name as Siem Masazoe. "There's been a development." He eyed Yoji strangely after he spoke, but it wasn't suspicion in his gaze. Yoji got the impression that, because he was also Kritiker, he knew who he was. The thought actually made the Weiß member uncomfortable. If all of Kritiker knew who he was, why didn't he know them in return? A matter of trust? He turned to watch Manx's reaction.

"What?"

It was Birman who answered in her soft, hushed voice. She said quietly, as if discussing a less tragic matter, "There's been a demand."

Manx's eyes widened, and Yoji felt his jaw go slack. After so long a time, _now_ they had a ransom demand?

* * *

Nagi laid in the bed which belonged to Weiß quietly, staring at the glass of water sitting on the small night stand beside the bed, still in the exact spot that the Weiß person had left it. It remained full. He wasn't thirsty; he wasn't hungry. But he _was_ completely awake and fully aware of the entire situation. If he was a prisoner, they hadn't killed him for a reason. Sympathy for an enemy, that was an unacceptable answer to Nagi. They had to have another agenda. But whatever it was, he certainly would not be of help to them. He was Schwarz. He would rather die than help Weiß.

_A prisoner -?_

He had been listening intently to everything that happened within this trailer-home of theirs, picking up on each little tap or click. All he heard was the sound of running water at one point, the hissing sound of water being misted. Their flower shop? Even after everything, that young man was still maintaining their cover of being florists, caring for the tender new seedlings and mass of potted plants. But that was just the thing. He was there alone. Only one Weiß member present to guard him. He was locked in, but that would be simple enough to alleviate. With his powers, he could even dispatch his sole watch dog. Weiß had seriously underestimated him.

With a soft groan, Nagi pulled himself to a sitting position. _Oh…_ He still hurt, but it was receding to just a heavy, sore ache. He could move fine enough if he forced himself. Then he suddenly felt the cold air in the sparse, slight room, remembering that he was without a shirt. Nagi turned to regard his bare arm, thin and pale, and he gingerly set his fingers against the dressings where Weiß had bandaged the wounds they themselves gave him. _Strange._

Without another thought, Nagi swung his legs over the side of the bed and, ever so slowly, made it to his feet, swaying slightly. He took a hesitant step, but found he had strength enough to walk. He silently moved over to the chair where they had left his shirt, now freshly washed, and he ducked his head into it. The hard part was getting his injured arm into the sleeve, but he managed, though with the stinging pain it seemed to take him forever just to get his wrist through. The bandages were visible through the torn, shredded sleeve, but he hardly cared. It was all part of the game, getting hurt. Life was a game, and he was just another pawn.

With his small hands, Nagi adjusted the mandarin collar of his blue top, smoothing out the peasant-cut waist. Why he thought he had to look presentable before killing the lone Weiß member and returning to Schwarz, he couldn't tell. It was for his own state of mind, his low self-esteem and wicked confidence. Darkly, sorely, he turned to give the locked door a heavy look. Then he strode over to it with no noise, a predator on the hunt, and set his right hand against the knob. Closing his eyes, he reached inside of himself, seeking out that familiar, arcane and strange well of power within his mind. With it he pictured the lock, the workings and mechanics of it. It would open for him. With his mind, it would obey.

But it didn't. The lock didn't give at all. And he couldn't feel it. Nagi's brows knit together. Why? He delved deeper into the far crevices of his mind, seeking his entire imagination and thoughts, but something... Something was different. It was total blackness, like sinking into a grave, drowning beneath the folds of common human conscious. Nothing was there; he didn't touch that familiar well of power. He couldn't reach it? Nagi's eyes flew open in panic. Why? Why couldn't he connect with what was a part of him? There was a barrier there. The barrier that any normal person had.

_Gone? But…_ Nagi felt his breath catch in his throat, and his hands began shaking. With his trembling fingers, he touched his forehead, feeling the bandage around his skull. That was it! He tore it off, feeling the crusted welt in the back of his head, under his dark, stringy hair. That's what had happened! They hit him, and now his powers -

His powers, everything he was, that familiar sensation that had always been there to comfort and protect him... _Please_... he thought hastily to the lock, his huge, liquid eyes fixed on that stupid, tarnished door knob. He sought deep within himself one last time, but only found what he hadn't known in quite some time. Fear. Dread. _Please, open. I can unlock this... Please…_

Nothing happened. And, he realized suddenly with a breathless air of foreboding, nothing ever would. His powers that Schwarz so highly prized, that which he was, that sense that gave him meaning and purpose in the world...

It was gone?

* * *

Omi blinked sorely, and moved against his bound wrists and legs. He spat out the salty, metallic taste of blood in his mouth and onto Schuldig's lacquered, bedroom floors. His pain was sharp and throbbing, and it seemed like it would never go away. Omi tried hard to laugh at himself. _That's what I get for being... what did Schuldig call it? A smart-ass._

He hoped he didn't have any loose teeth; he hated trips to the dentist. But Farfarello had slugged him a good one when he didn't cooperate at first. He should have learned his lesson the first time, trying to escape, and keeping his lips shut was even worse an idea it seemed. These two men would never let him go. Not alive, anyway.

He jerked his arm, and whimpered when it twisted at an even more awkward angle. He couldn't believe it; couldn't believe they had put him in a _straight-jacket_! Schuldig said they always kept it on hand for punishment, and Farfarello grinned the entire time like a gleeful boy nastily gloating because he knew how it felt, only it wasn't being done to him this time. _Freak,_ Omi thought the single word with a wave of pain. _These people are... sick, for sure!_

Did they even put this thing on right? His extremities felt like a twisted knot of aching limbs. He was propped in an odd position on the bed, as well, half laying down and half leaning against the wall. He tried thrashing his legs just once more, but got no leverage at all.

"Fucking moron!" Omi jumped at the sound of the voice; that pinched, German twinged, and horribly familiar tone was starting to be just as painful as anything. Schuldig said, "You're still fighting?"

"Shall we bleed that fight out of you?" hissed Farfarello sweetly. Omi saw the glint of a fine switchblade in his fingerless-gloved hands. His expression was placid, but he finally turned that lone eye to look at the boy- Weiß. And he smiled. Ruthlessly. Mercilessly.

Schuldig was leaning against the door frame, one leg elegantly proped into the other side, as if blocking the exit. There was only one shaded lamp lit outside the bedroom, which gave off a vague, muffled light, causing a drastic shadow effect to play somberly over the tall German. Farfarello was hidden in shadows, the light from the blinds causing a misty reflection on his white skin. They were the Devil's own work.

"You know, kid," Schuldig said, crossing his arms over his chest with brute authority, "we won't lay another hand on you if you just tell us where our friends are." He tilted his lavish head in a mock-sad way. "You know what it's like to miss your friends, right? We feel the same way. We'd like them back." The tone darkened. "Now."

Omi caught a breath, thinking up something fitting to his new "smart-ass" title, but as soon as the cool air hit his burning lungs, it sent him into a coughing fit, uncontrollably rattling his mangled, little body against his shackles. He made a tiny, pitiable sound when he managed to stop, and with tears blinding his vision, he glared at the two Schwarz. "I can't tell you -" He was seized again by coughs and Farfarello took that moment of gagging in a negative way, gliding up from his crouched position and ready to pounce. "- what I don't know."

"_Tch!_" the hissing click of his tongue was sinister as Schuldig practically flung himself off the support of the door frame, striding over to stand high above Omi, blocking out any light whatsoever from the other room. It was late in the day, but why was it so black whenever Schwarz was around? "Weiß took Nagi. _Where_ is Weiß, brat!"

He wheezed, but Omi said heavily, "They'd move. They would have already moved now that they know." Know? Know what? Omi suddenly realized he didn't even know what the hell was going on. He was a prisoner, out of any sort of informative loop whatsoever. And obviously these two Schwarz had no clue, either, or they wouldn't -

_Be torturing you to find some clues? _

Omi gasped at the unfamiliar feeling in his head. It was as if his very own thoughts had acquired a voice all their own. But that voice was jarring, like thousands of little needle pricks against his brain. It rang in his ears, shaking into him down to his very core. What _was_ that? It was strange, like someone was...

_No way? _

Omi lifted his head enough to look Schuldig in the face. The German stood over him haughtily, his lips parted in an all-knowing grin. And his eyes were glittering, playful. He remembered that look. When Schuldig had followed him to Ouka's apartment, threatening to tell her what Omi was, about Weiß, he had that same devilish look in his eyes. And when -

_When I set you up to get Wei__ß__? And we killed Ouka instead. _

Omi gasped again, this time in understanding. He hadn't realized it then, but now he knew. "You?" A laugh suddenly filled his head, a trembling, nasal laugh that was both disturbing and enjoyable. The exterior of the man changed as well with that laugh; Schuldig bared his teeth in a pleased smile.

_Now you know, heh chibi? I can invade your mind. Truth - you can't hide it from me, no matter how far away you lock it._ Aloud, he said, "Unless you want to join dear Miss Ouka-chan in the afterlife, tell me what I want to know!" The smile turned into a sneer. "Mamoru Takatori."

Omi growled, a small sound deep in the back of his throat. His eyes narrowed in spite, and using his own voice inside his mind, he shot back in thought, _Don't! Don't you dare call me that!_ There was that laugh again, annoyingly satisfied.

_Pretty good, chibi!_ Schuldig suddenly put a knee up on the bed beside his captive body, and Omi flinched away. Schuldig leaned towards him, and his whole demeanor suddenly, swiftly, changed.

His body moved regally, not in a firm manner to suggest someone winding up for a punch, but someone casual and concerned. And seeking something entirely different. The voice that suddenly invaded his mind again was also different. It was sleek and whisper-gentle, deep and mellow. _You'd be surprised,_ his mind's voice cooed. It was horrible and soothing. _What I can do with my mind alone._

And with those soft words, a strange sensation washed over his mind, like a feather-light touch that caressed his thoughts and feelings. Sensual, languid, erotic: it was a feeling that was all of those and more, something he could never put into words. Schuldig's powers of persuasion, his sheer skilled touch and aura from his thoughts alone were beyond belief. He knew how to use his mind, pleasingly, gently - but wickedly to his own advantage. The touch against his brain made Omi's heart race; made it stop.

He flushed and shivered against that strange invasion into his thoughts, and said, not as demanding as he would have liked, "Stop... Get out of my head! You're sick!"

Schuldig's mind fled as he vocally laughed aloud, a ringing sound full of pure amusement. But he didn't pull his body away. "God, chibi, you are fun to play with!" he said after his laughter. Then he titled his head, like the true tease he was, and said, "I don't know what you boys do in your spare time in Weiß, but we don't play like that here. Don't fret!"

For a split second, Omi was at a loss. Then the thought of what he was implying hit him, an awkward scene of the others flashed in his mind, and he blushed. Quickly, he attempted to mask that mental picture so Schuldig couldn't read it off his embarrassed mind. But then he felt a sigh clutch his chest. He had thought for a moment there they _would_ play with him like _that_. _Thank goodness…_

Suddenly, Farfarello rose off the floor, out of the darkness, and said, his plain voice now loud in the room, "Mind games aren't any fun." _Click._ He leveled the blade over his face, his features reflecting off the flat of it. His tongue darted out like a snake's against the metal, and Omi saw a flick of blood. "Let's play my game. God hates the game I created."

He was crazy, Omi thought. He literally was! Omi winced against the straps of the jacket in dire anticipation. Freed from one ordeal and thrown right into a new one!

"Down, boy," Schuldig said jokingly. "I'm not finished with him yet."

He actually winked at Omi, who stared at him in shock. That stare evened into a full glare, and the German made a little _hmph_ sound of rejection in his throat. _You don't want me? How rude!_ The voice inside his mind returned with all its serious playfulness. But this time, it was darker, deadly. _Better me than him, heh? You know what he is? _

Omi's eyes widened slightly as he recalled that mission awhile back; Ken had taken it upon himself to protect the devout Sunday school teacher and nun, Ruth. She had told them her story, and her dying regrets were of her own son, a boy named Jei who had slaughtered his foster family. A boy who was a lost soul, suffering, and not the raving maniac everyone made him out to be. The boy who hated God so much.

Omi glanced at Farfarello out of the corner of his eye, the pale archangel who had fallen into Hell's abyss long, long ago. But that boy was long gone, and the man that stood before him now, the Schwarz killer who was lavishing all his affection on the deadly edge of a knife, was someone to be feared. _That's right! _Schuldig's obnoxious voice confirmed. _You should fear him. He is a killer with no remorse. His mind has been too broken to have any trace of humanity. _

Omi blinked in confusion; Farfarello just stared at him in that dead, grave look he had. Suddenly, for reasons all his own, Schuldig flooded Omi's mind with terrifying images. Fear, and hate. Images of a boy stowed away in a padded cell. Fear. Locked in total darkness, alone, for days on end. And hate. The surgery, morbid, wrong; the therapy, electric shock waves that ruined thought. Omi squeezed his eyes shut against the images, but inside his mind, there was no escape.

Schuldig's mind-voice was taunting and serious. _Hate him, hate me; all of us. Everyone fears what they hate. They hate what they don't understand._ That voice was deep and guttural now. He was angry, and the thoughts were becoming more emotional.

_He's trying to break me,_ Omi thought. _Whatever they do to me, whatever he shows me, I can't help them! I'm Wei__ß__!_

_Isn't that so, chibi?_ Schuldig demanded. _Wei__ß__ and Schwarz. White and Black. We'll never be the same! _

Suddenly, a small moment slammed Omi inside his reeling mind; the stillness, the deafening silence... Suddenly, Omi felt an incredible sorrow hit him, a powerful feeling he had never experienced before. Then a word formed in his thoughts. He opened his mouth, trembling, his voice far, far away. "_Mami_...?"

And suddenly, the torment Schuldig was putting him through came to a roaring halt. The German let out a startled, breathless sound as he backed off the bed in disbelief. Omi flinched, and felt tears spring to his eyes as that suffering sensation left him. _What -? Whose thought was that? Whose memory?_ It wasn't his. Even when he was kidnapped, Omi realized, he had never felt anything that dark. Farfarello's memories were practically gone, and besides -

It was Schuldig. It was his mind that he was sharing for a moment. Then that word was German. For what? Omi looked up at the Schwarz member in confusion, wondering what he had let slip with the utterance. Soon, Omi wondered if he should have bitten his tongue and kept the intrusion as a secret - because Schuldig was gazing down on him with the most evil rage.

Schuldig's fists were clutched at his sides, white-knuckled and shaking. He was furious, yet the voice that came from the usually charismatic and snide man was... hurt. "You!" he hissed.

Instantly his hand flew out, grabbing Omi brutally by the face, his thumb and fingers around his jaw pressing so hard Omi felt like his skin would tear, his bones crack, and his teeth shattered off his gums; it felt like he would squeeze his head until it exploded. Omi couldn't stop the painful whimper that escaped from his lips. And the eyes on the German bent over him were fire, pure and powerful. But Omi could feel his hot breath against his cheek, and it was ragged and uneven. He was trembling. Why?

"_Halt die Fresse_!" Schuldig snarled. "Don't take peeks into other people's memories without permission, brat!" And his other hand snapped under his jacket, drew out a small pistol; he was completely done playing games.

Omi's mouth tried to force itself open, pleadingly, but suddenly Schuldig's aiming hand was wrenched away. His other arm was slammed at the elbow, instantly releasing Omi's jaw, who fell against the pillows, bound and startled.

Schuldig was practically dragged off of the bed by the gun-hand, and he hit the floor hard on his knees, the weapon clattering away from his splayed fingers. "_Arschloch_!" he growled heavily from the floor, flinging his hair off his shoulder and rounding on:

Crawford!

The black-haired American stood over Schuldig, his suit well pressed, his stance full of entire authority. His glasses caught the glint from the shaded window, but revealed enough of his honey-colored eyes to show his disdain and disapproval of the situation. Farfarello stood in the shadows behind him, and if he was surprised in the least, he did not show it. Schuldig's mouth fell open.

"Crawford, what the fuck?" Then his eyes narrowed. "What the hell was that for?"

The look he received in return was enough to make him back down. "I don't recall giving the order to kill him," Crawford said with a cold dignity.

Schuldig made a disgusted sound, but in the same room as one of Weiß, he kept his cool; he knew better than to challenge Crawford in Omi's presence. Instead, he pulled his feet under himself and stood, tall and resolute, and said, this time with a forced humor, "And I don't recall giving you a key to my place."

Crawford simply smirked. Then to the other two's amazement, he moved forward and began undoing the straps to the straight jacket. Omi jumped at his touch, but when he noticed that Crawford was going to _free_ him, he gazed up, astounded, into the Schwarz leader's face. Crawford just ignored him, like he wasn't anything alive.

It was Farfarello who questioned him. "Why?" A simple inquiry. His switchblade was now closed.

"We've made arrangements," said Crawford, avoiding a direct answer. "We figured, given the circumstances, we might as well all face the current situation prepared."

"We, we," Schuldig mocked. "Who the hell is _we_, heh?"

Crawford rolled Omi's little, beaten body out of the painful enclosure of belts and straps, snapped the folds of the material out one time, and turned to his two men. "Weiß and I have decided," said he, "to return our members."

* * *

"Are you serious?" Ken popped onto his feet in utter amazement, pressing the phone closer against his ear as he listened to Yoji. "There's been a ransom demand? You can't be serious!"

"I've never been more serious," Yoji's voice said on the other end of the line. Ken could hear from the wail of the wind rushing by, the buzz of traffic signals, and the hum of other vehicles that Yoji was on the drive back. In the late day traffic it would certainly take him awhile.

"But, after all this time, that boy can't still be -"

"Ken."

"I mean, I'd hate to say it, but -"

"Idiot! Shut up and listen!" Yoji snapped over the static of the distance. "He's alive! That boy is still kickin'!"

"What?"

"Manx let me listen in on the call with Birman and his father. He was able to speak to his son for a minute. That kid's still alive. Sure has some guts!"

"That's good news, right?"

"Strange news, I'd say," Yoji replied. His voice, broken by wind and the threat of being disconnected, still had a confused, thoughtful tone. "Don't you think it's rare for a kidnapper to hold on to a child this long? Especially since we assumed the kid and his father aren't even the real targets here."

Ken set a fist against one hip, thinking. "You're right. This entire situation just gets weirder and weirder."

"What does Aya think?"

"Eh?"

"Aya? You remember Aya, don't you, Ken?"

Ken grimaced into the phone, but his concerns outweighed his desire to berate the playboy Weiß. "I assumed he was with you. He hasn't come back all day." He heard Yoji's small sound of alarm. "This is not a good -"

Ken was suddenly cut short by a panic-stricken, sharp wail, like a pained cry of a lost, distraught child. It startled Ken, who jumped clear out of his skin, the sad sound piercing him to the core. For a moment, he thought it was Omi's cry, for it came from his room in the trailer. Then promptly he remembered their prisoner from Schwarz, and the desperate sound made him drop the phone, his eyes wide and heart thrumming. _Oh, no!_

Fearful of what he might find, what had caused the boy such distress, Ken ran for the room, digging the keys from his jean's pocket, unconcerned by Yoji's voice on the other end, shouting, "Ken? What's happened? Ken! Dammit Ken -"

Ken fumbled with the key ring at first, but finally dug out the correct one and rammed it into the lock, snapping it opened. He all but flung wide the door in his haste to find out what had happened. He ran into the room, asking worriedly, "Are you alright?" But the sight his eyes fell on drew a confused sound from him, and stopped him dead in his tracks, one hand still clutching the door knob.

The Schwarz boy was kneeling on the ground, shaking and clutching his head in the middle of the floor. His eyes were enormous and wild, but vacant, without any rational recognition or emotion. He had completely drained of any living color, and his breathing was ripping from his chest in hard sobs. Ken felt a stab in his heart as he looked upon the sight before him, blinking in total confusion. He had never seen a person look so lost and afraid.

He took a step into the room, one hand slowly reaching out to the boy. "What happened?" he asked softly, gently.

But Nagi made a tormented, small sound, a frightened whimper; he visibly flinched, cowering even more in on himself and drawing his little body further away. Then, as if the sound of Ken's voice finally made its way through his shocked emotions, Nagi Naoe vaguely lifted his head to gaze at Ken, and in his eyes - Ken gasped in pity. In the child's eyes was all the sadness of the world.

Nagi drew in a hoarse breath, and said in a voice completely lost, as if coming from another dimension all together, "I -" He met Ken's eyes, held them with his terrified gaze. "I can't," he finally whispered. He let go of his head, and held his small hands in front of his eyes, staring at them like they were some rare oddity. "I could - I could throw the bed against the wall... crush this entire place with my thoughts..."

Ken arched a brow, understanding the boy was explaining his awesome powers as a telekinetic. He knew he wasn't exaggerating in the least; he had a taste of that ability back at the warehouse. Whatever the Schwarz's strength, Ken knew it all too well. _But why is he rambling like this? _

Suddenly, Nagi looked back at Ken again, and the look in his eyes was both pleading and frightening at the same time; it made Ken step a tentative foot back. The boy-Schwarz said darkly, "I could even kill you if I wished it."

And Ken suddenly realized that's exactly what he wished. He was fully dressed, and ready to leave. The boy had been ready to kill him.

"But I can't," Nagi finally revealed. As if the spoken words made it all the more real to him, Nagi's hands clutched into fists and he smashed them into the floorboards so forcefully Ken winced. "_I can't!_" Nagi wailed, and through his eyes, crushed closed, Ken saw the tears.

And Nagi Naoe, the young killer of Schwarz, started to cry, his frail, small frame crumpling over his hands onto the floor. Each wrenching sob sent trembles rippling over him. He was shivering, completely vulnerable and afraid, hugging himself against the tremors. And it hurt Ken to watch him like that. He wanted to go to him, to hold the boy and tell him that everything would be all right. His instincts as a human being told him to comfort the scared child. The parents of the kids he taught soccer to always told him he had a special way with children, and he knew how to take care of them. Because he cared.

But this was different. And his instincts as an assassin of Weiß told him to go. He knew, with this child, that was probably the best thing for him. He could see that Nagi was not use to human touch in the least, growing up in Schwarz, itself a strange and solitary group. Despite how much it pained him to do so, Ken decided the best thing to do was leave him be.

With a sad look, pity and grief weighing down on him, Ken backed out of the room, leaving the crumbled child there, and closed the door delicately behind him. He didn't bother to lock it this time. He stood in the outer room for a moment more, until the sorrowful sounds of Nagi's tears became too much for the assassin with the "big brother" attitude to stand; he went outside and sat down on the stairs into the van.

It was cold, the coming evening bringing the promise of frost for this autumn night. Ken stared off into space, thinking, wondering what they would do with the child now. Aya had hit him too hard, the force of the blow has caused him to lose his powers. And now, without them...

_He really is just a helpless child,_ Ken thought miserably. Suddenly, it was hard to see him as Schwarz. He grimaced angrily to himself. _Shit! I can't stand this!_ He didn't know what to do. None of Weiß knew anything about Schwarz, what caused them pain, how to get to them, but now…

Now he saw how helpless Schwarz really were. Ken sat there as the day slowly began to come to a close, mindless to the fact that Yoji was on his way back, and Aya was nowhere to be found. At that moment, it didn't matter. All he knew was the soft sound of the killer weeping.


	11. Elf

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Elf (Eleven)

Ken sat in the deepening twilight with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms folded atop them and his face buried. When he heard Yoji drive up, he barely raised his head to look at him.

"Ken? What the hell happened to you? You just suddenly left me on hold," Yoji said, his eyes behind his shades concerned, and slightly miffed, as only Yoji could manage in a single look. He closed the door of his rental car with a slap of his hand. "Well?"

_What should I say?_ Ken wondered, staring up at an expectant Yoji. _Should I tell them? Does it even matter if I do?_ For some odd reason, Ken felt that to tell the others would somehow be betraying the boy they held prisoner. Of course, the boy didn't ask him to keep any kind of secret for him, and honestly, he didn't owe Schwarz anything. They had no trust between them. Still...

Finally, Ken just shrugged, much to Yoji's chagrin, who made a small _harrumph_ sound, planting his fists on his hips in displeasure. Suddenly, any and all traces of worry or concern were gone, and he said in frustration, "I bet you didn't even remember to put the phone back on the hook, did you?" Ken realized he did not. Nor did he care. "What if someone tries to call?"

Ken scoffed quietly. "Who'd call us?" he mumbled.

"Manx," Yoji smartly retorted. "Or Aya. Not to mention we still have a business to run. Where's your head, Ken?"

_On other problems…_ Ken finally stretched out his legs and gazed up at Yoji. "Aren't you the tiniest bit worried about any of this? Things just aren't what they seem anymore." _Jeez, that sounds like an understatement._

The playboy Weiß sighed. "Naturally. I would think that goes without saying. But really, I don't see any point in moping around, or getting all wigged out by it."

Ken arched a brow. "What's that suppose to mean?" he challenged.

Yoji threw up his fists in utter frustration, making a loud, growling _tch_ sound and responding, "You've been sitting around the trailer whining and fussing over that kid. Why not try _doing_ something to help instead?"

"I _am_ by keeping that kid alive!" Ken countered, springing to his feet and into Yoji's face. _He doesn't get it!_ he thought to himself angrily. _And now I can't help that boy anymore. And Omi -_ "You've been such a jerk lately!"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me!"

Suddenly, both Weiß realized someone else was standing there watching them both get worked up. They turned in confusion, each voicing a startled little "_Uh_?" Their petty, small argument was swiftly cut short when they realized it was Aya. The tall redhead stood there silently, his eyes drawn narrow in disapproval of their usual, boyish bickering. Finally, Yoji broke the moment.

"Aya?" His voice was stunned, his glasses down on the tip of his nose and showing emerald eyes that were wide and bewildered. But then he pushed his shades back up in their proper place, and his whole attitude altered into someone more in control, yet still highly frustrated. "It's about time you showed up."

Ken turned to him. "Where in the world have you been? We thought -"

"We didn't know what to think," Yoji interjected.

"I see you've been keeping yourselves occupied," Aya quipped heavily, walking past both of them, and their questions, and heading into the trailer.

"Is that suppose to be a joke?" Yoji asked with a grimace, crossing his arms over his chest.

Suddenly, Ken jumped over to snag Aya's arm, who had just reached out to grasp the door handle into their home. "Wait a sec!" he said urgently. Aya simply turned in minor shock, looking into Ken's large, teal eyes in wonderment. Ken's expression was grave, and pleading. Aya titled his head, waiting for an explanation. Ken stammered, "I-I just meant - I wanted..."

Without giving him any good reason, Aya vaguely shook his head and moved to open the door, but Ken's grip tightened. Aya rounded on his fellow Weiß member with cold, heavy eyes, and the dark stillness which dwelled behind those eyes suggested to Ken they had no time for his hesitation; and Ken, with a defeated, regretful sigh, backed down. With his hand now free, Aya entered the trailer. He was greeted by a single light on and the phone hanging off the hook, the dial tone annoyingly loud in the close quarters.

The other members of Weiß stood outside, surrounded by the chilly dusk and dimming light. Ken was sadly confused, while Yoji was thoroughly put off by everyone's lack of cooperation and their dire attitudes. Ken started after Aya, distressed at what they might find within. But, for a moment, Yoji lingered.

Something was wrong. Yoji felt it, not simply as something out of the ordinary, but with his killer's cautious instincts. He turned slowly, and saw a black sedan parked across the way, hidden in the thickening shadows. The driver was shielded by tinted glass. Yoji glared at the familiar vehicle. _Could it be possible…? _

Finally realizing the car wasn't about to go anywhere, and the driver, if there even was one at the moment, didn't stir, Yoji decided to let it be. He wanted to hear Aya's story. Yoji followed the others in, only to be the one to restore the phone to its proper place.

Inside, Ken was alarmed when Aya, still having given them no explanation whatsoever, headed straight for Omi's room, where the boy-Schwarz remained. Aya paused for a moment outside the door, his hand on the knob, and Ken waited to get his head bitten off for not having locked it. _But he doesn't know, either._

In the brief moment while Aya was contemplating the mistake of the unlocked door, Ken strained to hear any sound from the boy. _That's all he needs now, Aya storming in on him._ But he heard nothing, no soft tears or sobbing grief. And Aya opened the door, striding in with the others following.

Ken fidgeted slightly when he saw the boy. Nagi's back was to them as he sat on the bed in silence, slightly hunched, his small hands folded neatly on his lap. They couldn't see his eyes, still glistening, staring fixedly, blankly, off into space. He gave no sign he was even aware of their presence, or that he had heard anyone enter the room. His whole demeanor was suddenly uncaring. About anything.

Aya said in his deep, resonant voice to the boy's back, "You're Nagi Naoe, correct?"

The boy made no reply, but Yoji and Ken looked at Aya in confusion. How did Aya suddenly know the Schwarz's name? None of them had ever really been introduced, and they had always met under fire and strife, and any names thrown out were given to assumptions. Yoji finally gave in to his impatience and asked loudly, "What's going on, Aya?"

"Schwarz and I have decided to return our members."

"What?" Yoji's jaw dropped open at his clear surprise.

All Ken could do was stare at Aya in complete shock, thinking they were going to get Omi back without any help or fighting. But out of the corner of his eye, Ken thought he saw Nagi wince.

"As easily as that?" Ken asked hopefully.

But Yoji asked an entirely different question, "_What_ in God's name were you doing all this time? With _Schwarz_?"

Aya turned to them both, not bothering to leave the room since Nagi Naoe would need to know the situation for when he returned to his own group, as well, and explained darkly, "I discovered who we need to hunt."

Ken and Yoji both gazed at him in confusion, but also with the hunters' bloodlust in their eyes. They were ready to hear him out.

* * *

Siem, codenamed Korat, sat quietly at the Bertrüger headquarters, working on some files. They were for his original, mundane position for Kritiker, so he worked swiftly, clacking away on his personal laptop computer. Atop his dark head, he had on a mouthpiece for a cellular communication link, which was, in all actuality, his main focus. On the other end of the line, his brother was talking to him from his duty of tailing their opponents.

"Weiß is now also back home, niisan," Nardus informed him.

Siem smirked blackly. "So dear Crawford of Schwarz and Aya from Weiß were plotting something all their own, hmm?" He chuckled lightly, a dry, whisper-soft sound that could barely be heard. "Too bad we didn't bug them, too. It would have proved useful to hear exactly what their exchange was."

His younger brother made a tiny sound of both agreement and disregard. "Will you tell Akira about this?"

"This will turn out to be Akira's mess," Siem replied somewhat nastily, "whatever happens. I see no need in sharing this information right now. Besides, we don't even know what they were discussing, now do we?"

"Are you sure this is for the best?"

"For now."

"Did Akira call in the ransom demand like he said he would?"

"Yes. And I was present at Kritiker when it went down."

Nardus laughed, a gleeful sound that was resonant and harsh; he was highly excited about the news, and was equally as eager to know one thing. "How much did he ask for?"

Siem didn't respond right away. Instead, his mind wandered back to the moment, recalling Akira's words to his father over the phone. Akira's familiar voice had been heavily encrypted and distorted by their technology, the wave lengths so messed up not even Kritiker's high tech gadgets could discern it or locate him. As planned. What they didn't plan on was the amount, however, Siem had figured on demanding a high price, to help fund their underworld activities from the get-go. But Akira...

Not wanting to disappoint his brother, Siem merely said, "He didn't specify."

"Heh?" From the lack of response over the line, Siem could tell Nardus was perplexed about his answer.

Finally, Nardus stated, "Weiß seems pretty much bedded down for the night. Nothing from inside their stupid trailer but one light. Shall I return, or continue to watch them?" Siem could clearly hear his brother crank the shift into gear from his car without waiting for the answer, already knowing what it would be.

"Return," Siem acknowledged. "I'll take up the watch tomorrow, bright and early. We'll leave them be tonight to discuss Akira's proposition. I must admit, I myself am intrigued to hear their reply."

"What if they accept? That would be a good thing, wouldn't it, Siem? It's basically what Akira intended in the first place, and we'd be two powerful groups stronger."

Siem sniffed in distaste. "Powerful? I hardly think so. Weiß is so damn foolish, like those at Kritiker." His angry disdain of both agencies was clearly apparent in his smooth voice, now deepened with loathing. "And Schwarz is nothing but a group of freaks with their own morbid ideas. They're not to be trusted."

"What are we gonna do then, niisan?"

"Watch them."

"Does that mean we're gonna give up on Akira?"

Siem's eyes narrowed, and he said thickly into the microphone, "We'll watch him, too."

* * *

Upstairs in his office, Akira Yori stood staring out the window, gazing into the distance at the highway. He watched the flickers of light as cars passed by, lit momentarily by the setting sun; each glint was distinct enough for him to see every vehicle, even from that far away. On his desk sat computerized things and technological this-and-that's, everything Kritiker could devise for altering voices, blocking transmissions, and rerouting phone lines. The phone itself had become a mound of duct tape, which secured the digital mouthpiece and amplifier. A laptop sat nearby, screen still open to show a map of metro Tokyo; they had made sure the trace from the Kritiker agency didn't tap into theirs. It all went smoothly, and his father hadn't even know it was his son, both the kidnapped and the kidnapper. Akira gave a tiny grin. Perfect, it was all perfect.

From behind him, he heard Heinke give a loud, rattling, and dramatic sniff, and he closed his eyes against the sound. He hated her when she did that stuff, and she should know better than to do it in front of him. His mother had, at least, never snorted heroine in his presence. Heinke coughed lightly, and Akira turned about, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets in disapproval.

"Feel better?" he asked in antipathy.

She wasn't so high yet as not to know his look. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and had the decency to look apologetic and sheepish. She began shoving her paraphernalia into her handbag, and Akira could see her hands were shaking badly. He knew it wasn't the drugs; she was so far gone with those that she was use to the affects, had mastered them as much as one could. She muttered, "Sorry. I'm a little stressed out."

His tone softened a bit. "About what, Heinke-chan? Things are going completely as planned." She did look a lot like his mother in her business dress from work.

She gazed up at him from her position on the loveseat in his office. "As planned?" she repeated. "We didn't plan on having Weiß part of us. They were the ones you said would kill us, unless we could kill them first."

"We failed," Akira said smoothly, unconcerned by the statement. "We could try again, sure, but this way -" He smiled. "This way will prove valuable and fun. We will fight the cross we bear any way we can, but for now, we will let Schwarz and Weiß bear our burden. This _will_ be fun!"

Heinke scoffed meanly, not at all persuaded into thinking as he did. But she said, still with as much devotion as when they began the operation, "Whatever you say." Then she smiled. By the expression that overcame her lovely face, Akira could see the effects starting to take hold; she was cruel and wild looking. She was ruthless on drugs, and that made her a valuable asset to the group. "I haven't been able to kill anyone yet. You promised I would."

Akira smiled then. "I did, didn't I? Well, patience, my dear Heinke-chan. We still have a long way to go before we crumble Tokyo to ruins. The game has only just begun."

Suddenly, breaking their maniacal scheming, a chorus of incoherent shouting came from downstairs, and with an echoing crash and pounding thump, they heard the sound of something heavy being hurled and broken. Akira's brows pinched together in angry confusion, and Heinke leaped, on edge, to her feet. She whipped out her small pistol, instantly cocking the trigger. With a frustrated sound at having been disturbed, Akira stalked to the door and headed out into the hallway, Heinke close at his heels. Approaching the flight of stairs to the lower rooms, Akira could immediately tell whose voices they were, and could occasionally pick out pieces of the conversation and screaming. He leaned into the railing and looked down into the main area.

He gave a light, airy laugh at what he saw. Bits and pieces of what had once been a laptop computer were scattered across the base of the flight, shattered against the wall there. Siem, gun drawn and pointed, was keeping none other than Ikeda from Schwarz from getting to the stairs - from getting to Akira. Ikeda, too, had his gun out, though he held it much less firmly than Siem. With his shaking arm, he would never hit the other. _Fool,_ Akira thought with boyish mirth to himself. He sure was a fun fellow!

From the other side, having only just driven in, Nardus was sitting on top the hood of his black sedan, watching his brother about to shoot Ikeda for the hell of it with a huge, fanged grin. He was having as much fun with the display as Akira. However, Siem seemed highly pissed off.

The shouting stopped when Akira said brightly, "What on earth is going on here?"

"There you are, you damn little -!" Ikeda's shaken, cracked voice was sharply cut off by the click of Siem, Nardus and Heinke fingering and loading their guns, guarding their young leader from his disrespectful words. Ikeda didn't seem to notice them, save for the sweat that dripped down his face to betray his nerves. He didn't finish his rude statement. _Brownie point for him,_ Akira thought, cocking his head in a youthful, wondering way.

"Did you need something from me, Ikeda-san?" he asked aloud.

"You told me I would be the new leader of Schwarz!" he shouted up to him, his voice so slurred with anger and fear as to make his words almost unintelligible.

"I did," said Akira. "That was my promise to you for your help."

"You brat!" Heinke moved as if to fire, offended and thrilled, but Akira put an arm over her line of sight, shaking his head slightly to detour her. "You left Crawford alive! I can't go back to Schwarz with him there. He'll kill me for sure!"

"I would do the same if I were him." Ikeda made as if to speak, but Akira raised his hand to silence him. "Come now. There's no need to be belligerent and shouting."

"But -"

"I _did_ promise you the position," Akira said forcefully, his authority, though still a boy, greatly outweighed Ikeda's, and he flinched from the direct, harsh tone in his voice. "However, the spot is not yet open. When the time comes, you will become the new leader of Schwarz. I am a man of my word, after all."

"So you do plan on killing Crawford?" Ikeda asked, hopeful.

"I will if it is necessary."

Ikeda didn't seem happy with the reply, and Akira knew it. He also knew that, whatever Weiß and Schwarz decided to do, there would no longer be various, separate groups to be maintained. They would all merge into one group, Bertrüger, with himself as the primary leader. He would have lieutenants, of course, to maintain smaller fragments, but... he hadn't fully decided what to do with Ikeda yet. He grinned wickedly.

Finally, with a dramatically heavy sigh, Ikeda lowered his gun; Akira motioned for his men to do the same. Siem did so with regret, looking to his brother out of annoyance; Nardus grinned back at him, trying to lighten his mood, interlocking his hands behind his head and stretching out on top the hood of the car.

Ikeda said, "What am I suppose to do for the time being?"

"You are a Deceiver of your own group. Bertrüger," replied Akira. "For now, make yourself at home." He started to head back to his office, but then stopped, saying in a charming manner over his shoulder, "Oh, and by the way, you owe Siem-kun a new computer." His delicate boy's laugh echoed through the high, spacious room.

* * *

Yoji's soft word was so heavy it seemed to weigh to the floor. "Whoa." That's all he could think of to say.

The sheer impact of what Aya had told them, the whole truth and nothing but, had shocked them both. So much so that Yoji, as if his knees had suddenly turned to mush, had actually sat down on the floor in front of the door to Omi's room, sitting cross-legged. Ken was standing silently, his expression dark and grave, like someone at a funeral. He was leaning against the wall beside Yoji, arms straight at his sides and head resting back, as if all of his muscles had gone limp, as well. Shock, pure shock. And Aya left it to all sink in.

Only Nagi Naoe was unmoved. He seemed emotionless, staring at his own personal world, lost. He had not moved a muscle, nor uttered one word. Aya and Yoji assumed it was from a combination of shock and being in their company. Ken knew the real source of the boy's dilemma, but for now, he had forgotten it.

"Whoa," Yoji repeated again.

Finally Ken said something as well. "So we were set up by Akira Yori. I can't believe it."

"A sixteen year old kidnapped boy did this, heh?" Yoji muttered. Then he laughed, and the sound was full of shadows. Suddenly, a thought struck him, like a blow to the head, and he looked up at Aya, pondering. "Then... what's with the ransom demand?"

Aya seemed taken aback. "Demand?"

Yoji and Ken exchanged a look, realizing Aya had known nothing of it. Yoji asked, "You didn't hear about it? That kid didn't mention it?"

"Well, I highly doubt we're part of his circle of friends yet, Yoji," quipped Ken.

"That's not my point," snapped Yoji, lighting a cigarette. He took a long drag, then said seriously, pointing the cigarette at Ken, "If there's no kidnapped boy, what do they need a ransom for?"

"That's how the game is suppose to play out," Ken said. "Maybe they need money? Even we get paid for what we do."

"Still, it does seem strange."

While they contemplated aloud, Aya's expression had become that of the cold-hearted killer, his mind busy at work with this new tidbit of information. It was strange, indeed. What did that boy-mastermind have up his sleeve, he wondered? He hardly understood how the kid's brain operated, but there was always a possibility of something outrageous. But what could it be?

Aya questioned Yoji with, "How much was the ransom demand?"

Yoji stabbed a finger at the redhead, as if he had just said something to hit the hammer on the nail. "Ah, now see, that's a bit queer, too. No yen amount. All they said was to prepare, and I quote, 'The amount you think your son is worth'. What do you make of that?"

"He's playing the game, as Ken said," replied Aya. "Let us play the game then as well."

"We have no other choice," said Ken, eyes on the floor. "But we'll do it our way, right?" He turned his gaze to his friends. Aya nodded, and Yoji gave him the thumbs up from his seat on the floor, chiming an approving, "Right!" Ken inquired next, "So what's the plan?"

"For now," said Aya, "we'll return members, then go back to Akira with the answer he expects us to have. We'll wait for him to play his next card, then open with our own."

"Sounds good," Yoji agreed, hefting himself up off the floor with a muffled grunt. "I'm still not so sure," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "about dealing on the same level as Schwarz."

Suddenly, all eyes turned to the muted boy still seated on the bed. Aya didn't make a response to Yoji's worries, but said to Nagi, "You're going home tomorrow morning. They will instruct you of our plans from here on out."

Nagi said nothing; he did nothing at all. Ken lingered in the room for a moment more as Aya and Yoji filed out, Yoji babbling something about "Poor Manx". Ken's thoughts returned to that helpless, scared child he had seen before, and he realized that child hadn't left the frail body before him. Nagi was still afraid. Of what exactly, Ken wasn't sure.

Ken felt he should say something, but all he could think of to say was a friendly, "Good night." When he said it, Nagi's body heaved, as if he sighed, and he hung his head even more. Ken felt the same stabbing pang of sorrow. But he shouldn't be sorry for him now, should he? They were handing him back over to his own group, the world which had obviously raised him. And Weiß was getting Omi back, without a struggle. He should be happy.

Then why, he wondered, leaving the room, did he feel so bad?


	12. Zwölf

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Zwölf (Twelve)

As Aya had informed them, the exchange would take place before dawn, the two groups would meet in the park before the prime of the morning rush. After that, they would all wait until young Akira summoned them for their answer. No one knew when or how that would go down, but at least they were expecting it. One day, the child mastermind had told Aya, and no more than that. Soon it would all commence.

Aya alone seemed unperturbed by the entire ordeal, while Yoji, though out like a light the moment he went off to bed, as usual, was thoroughly confused by it. He spent a good portion of the night sitting up listening to the news on the radio, and chain smoking; here and there questioning Aya about his meetings with Akira Yori and Crawford of Schwarz. His biggest concern was not their target, but those who should be: Schwarz. Yoji didn't like the idea of cooperating with the rival assassins in the slightest.

Ken never went to bed that night. He sat up with Yoji and Aya until both retired for the evening, then remained on the couch alone, thinking. He switched off the radio, and wondered if things were really going to be so simple. Were they ever? But they would get Omi back, defeat the enemy that had tried to kill them, and then everything was back to... normal? Well, at least back to the usual. He sniffed in sad disdain, then stopped, surprised at his sudden emotions of disapproval. Weiß and Schwarz.

How pitiful they both were.

Finally, when his wrist watch read a quarter to five a.m., Ken could take the solitary darkness no longer and got up to make a fresh pot of coffee. He rummaged through the fridge a bit, not necessarily hungry, but not knowing what else to do so early in the morning besides wait. He threw out certain jars and containers of discolored whatnots that had gone way beyond their edible stage and dug out the cream and sugar for coffee. He was getting highly impatient with the slowly ticking clock. Sipping his coffee, his thoughts meandered back to Omi.

Then he looked over to the boy-Weiß's bedroom door and remembered their half of this bargain. Feeling slightly ashamed at himself for having forgotten all about Nagi Naoe, Ken thought about taking him a cup of black, then decided against it. Instead, he poured the boy a glass of milk and dug out some cookies. Not much of a healthy breakfast, but then none of them really ever had time to properly stock their cupboards or make decent meals, and he didn't think the young boy would care too much for his wretched cooking.

Balancing his handful, Ken quietly slipped towards the door. He did not knock, but instead tapped the door with his knuckles. It didn't make much of a sound beyond the hollow door, but he didn't want to wake anyone if they were sleeping, although they would have to set out soon. He'd just leave Aya to pummel Yoji up. When the boy inside didn't answer, Ken figured he would just leave everything for him. He opened the still unlocked door and tip-toed inside.

His eyes were adjusted to the faint light, and immediately he noticed the boy wasn't in bed. In fact, the bed was properly made, the sheets smooth and pillows neatly arranged. Was he setting everything back in order for its real occupant? Ken blinked stupidly, not knowing exactly what to think. Nagi couldn't have escaped, since he was up all night. And of course, why would he need to escape now?

Then he felt the child's strange presence, saw the slight stirring motion from out of the corner of his eye; Ken turned to see Nagi sitting with legs drawn up to his chest, back against the side wall. He was wide awake, silently watching Ken's reaction. He certainly was an eerie kid - but then, he was Schwarz.

Ken forced a cheerful smile. "There you are," he whispered quietly. "Didn't you sleep at all?" That seemed a kinder inquiry then asking the boy what the hell he was doing.

Nagi barely shook his head. His eyes were still fixed on Ken, watching him so in-depth that Ken wondered if he was trying to see clean through to his soul. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

"I don't know if you're hungry," he finally spoke again, setting the glass and cookies on the dresser, "or what you like, but I brought you this anyway." The boy just continued to stare at him; his arms were wrapped around his legs, quivering just so. "Ah, I can get you a cup of coffee if you'd rather?"

Ken scratched the back of his neck, trying to think of something else nice to say. Nagi certainly made it hard; he was an extremely different teenager than Omi, though they looked about the same age. He asked at last, "Is something wrong?"

Nagi blinked and diverted his eyes. Ken thought he heard him whisper, "No." He seemed just as uncomfortable as Ken felt, but surely for different reasons. Nagi was thinking this all through as well, but whatever his conclusions were, Ken knew they didn't match his own.

Suddenly Aya's deep voice, loud in the dark closeness of the trailer space, made Ken gasp and jump in surprise. "It's time," was all he said.

Breathing out the startled breath he caught, Ken nodded. "Is Yoji up?" Aya just bobbed his red head in affirmation. "Do you want me to drive?"

"Yeah, right!" he heard Yoji scoff from the kitchenette. "You didn't sleep a wink, I'll bet. I don't want you anywhere near the wheel! I'll drive."

"The park's not far," Ken grumbled as Aya turned his back, moving to join Yoji up front in the vehicle's main compartment. Then Ken looked back to Nagi, who had trained his eyes on the floor the moment Aya appeared. "He's okay as long as you don't get him mad," he assured with a grin.

Nagi lifted his gaze to meet Ken's again, and there was something in his eyes, a different light, a tiny glimmer of some deeply stored emotion that he only showed around Ken. He wondered, for a moment, if what he saw in his eyes was trust. _Well, I have been the one around him all the time,_ Ken thought to himself. _Like any kid, it takes time to get them to open up._

But time was something the Weiß and Schwarz members didn't have left. The vehicle started up, shifting gears and making their way to the park. It merely took Ken a heartbeat to become accustomed to the motion, but Nagi had to put a hand to the floor for balance. He suddenly looked ill.

"You don't get car sick, do you?"

Again, the faint, "No." He looked worried, like he was dreading something.

Ken looked at Nagi's arm, out to steady himself, and focused on the torn, stained sleeve, dangling loosely to barely brush the floor. Big brother instinct once more kicking in, Ken moved over to the dresser and drew out the middle drawer, shuffling through Omi's clothes. He knew Omi wouldn't mind, the boy had a bigger heart than any of them. Besides, he'd just be so glad to be home he wouldn't even notice.

"Here," Ken chirped, opening a preppy looking sweater of Omi's, hunter green in color with a dramatic v-neck accented by thick navy blue, white and sand colored ribbing. He held it out for the boy, who looked up at him, lips slightly parted in shock. "You'll need something warmer, and your shirt is -"

He stopped himself as the realization of _how_ his shirt was ruined hit him like a rushing wind. It seemed rather insensitive to be so chit-chatty about it, in retrospect. Ken licked his lips to quiet them. _Moron! Can't say much, can I?_ Not knowing how to get out of it, Ken flicked his shoulders in an awkward shrug and held the shirt out to Nagi, who looked at it strangely.

Then those huge, liquid blue eyes lifted to meet Ken's, and the expression he saw in them was sorrowful, and oddly sure. This kid's emotions were suddenly helter-skelter since the loss of his powers, from one end of the spectrum to the far, far next. When Ken coaxed him with a positive ruffle of the sweater, Nagi reached out a tentative hand, taking the offering delicately. He stared at it, his fingers working the fabric thoughtfully, and Ken wondered if perhaps he didn't like the idea of stripping in front of people. Respecting that, Ken turned to leave, but the boy's faint voice called him back.

"Please... can I ask..." Nagi's already smooth, refined voice was softened even more; he was whispering, as if he wasn't completely certain he wanted to say anything. Ken had to strain to hear him. "... a favor?"

_He wants something? From me?_ Ken blinked. "A favor?" He wasn't really sure he'd heard the boy correctly. "What kind of favor can I do for you?"

Suddenly, the trailer slowed, the brakes squeaking hard as the vehicle rounded into a deeper section of the park. Ken could see from outside the tiny window that they were along the jogger's track shrouded by autumn-clad trees, which kept the approaching dawn even more at bay; filigree patterns and heavy shadows clouded the patch of picnicking grass they stopped at. He heard Yoji curse.

"Schwarz is already here," he heard him whine. Ken turned to join the others up front, to check things out, when he realized the boy hadn't asked his favor yet. Yoji hollered, "Ken?"

"A minute!"

* * *

In the driver's seat, Yoji arched a frustrated eyebrow at Ken's call, looking over his shoulder, but seeing nothing as the divider was drawn. He looked at Aya, whose narrowed eyes were fixed on those outside.

Crawford was standing, as tall and straight as only Crawford could, in a shadow-gray business suit with a stylish, darker colored peacoat on against the early frost, left open. His glasses reflected the light brightly, revealing nothing of his expression to them. A little behind him stood Schuldig, hands buried in the pockets of his long trench coat, sporting no headband nor shades today, but leaving his carrot-colored mass of hair freely flowing around his chiseled face. He was already smiling like the Devil, teeth bared. He seemed especially eager to meet Weiß again.

"There's only two," Yoji said, speaking the exact thoughts in Aya's head. "And I don't see Omi. I told you not to trust Schwarz, didn't I?"

Aya motioned with his head towards the other side of the field, where Crawford's sleek black car sat parked, windows drawn. "There," he said, opening the glove compartment at his knees and withdrawing a small pair of binoculars. He focused on the car, but through the tinted windows, all he could make out was the outline of the other Schwarz, the spiked bits of hair declaring it to be Farfarello.

"Can you see Omi in there?" Yoji asked; Aya shook his head. "Shit! Where's Ken?"

Aya turned to him. "We'll leave him to his minute," he said. "Let's go see how they intend to play this out."

"Right," Yoji said, going for the door. "If they don't intend to give Omi back, then we'll hang on to their youngest member, too."

Aya and Yoji left the warm confines of the floral trailer, shutting the doors and making their way towards Schuldig and Crawford with nary a word. The world outside was a pale silver, the sky caught between realms of night and day, displaying both feathery silver clouds and the dying light of stars. The air was heavy with a chill, biting against their skin through their clothing, and the half dead grass under their boots sparkled with new frost, each green-brown blade encased in ice. Weiß stopped at a safe distance, out of precaution, and no one exchanged a greeting of any sort. Instead, Crawford grinned.

"I see we both aren't used to having to trust the other," he said in his hauntingly deep voice; his breath hung in the air between them in light clouds from the cold. Aya merely inclined his head.

"How is Omi?" Yoji asked seriously; his tone held a suspicious implication, as well as a threatening one.

"Heh," smirked Schuldig maliciously. "That's rude! We might as soon ask you how Nagi is doing!"

"We're not like you!" snapped Yoji, insulted by his remark. Exactly the response he was playing for, Schuldig chuckled. He was silenced by Crawford's hand.

"We have far more pressing matters to attend to after this," said the leader of Schwarz. "Let's not fool with each other now."

"I agree," said Aya. "Let's be done with it."

They waited. Who would be the first to knuckle under?

* * *

Ken stared out the window from inside Omi's cramped room, damning it for facing the wrong direction. He heard Yoji and Aya go out to meet Schwarz, and heard them conversing. He strained to hear the sweetly boyish sound of Omi's voice, but he never did. What was going on out there?

Feeling a little rushed, he turned back to Nagi. "Ask your favor then? We have to go."

As if those words were the most uncaring and coldest ones ever spoken to him, Nagi crumpled in on himself, cuddling the sweater he was given to his chest and trembling. He didn't want to go through with it! He didn't want to ask, either, but -

No longer possessing the courage to meet Ken's eyes, Nagi said pleadingly into the folds of the hunter green sweater, "Please... don't make me. I don't want to go back!"

Ken felt his heart stop.

* * *

"Isn't this interesting as hell?" Nardus laughed, leaning his elbow out the passenger's side window, heedless to the chilly early morning air.

Siem, however, looked perplexed, slate gray brows drawn together thoughtfully. "Interesting," he mimicked. He stroked his lower lip for some time, watching Schwarz and Weiß in the park, talking.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" asked Nardus with a dramatic tilt of his head in the direction of those meeting outside.

"I would assume," said Akira Yori's voice from the speaker-phone between them, "they are planning on returning their members."

Nardus, always the vocal one, asked the phone with the teenager's voice, "Is that a good sign?"

"You can read it either way," replied his brother. "Either they want to set aside their quarrels with each other because they know they'll be disbanded after they join us, or -"

It was Akira who finished that statement darkly. "Or else they're joining forces against us. How amusing!"

Lowering his arm away from his face, the Kritiker turncoat said heavily to the speaker phone, "Do we allow them to go through with it?"

"By all means," said Akira, brightly this time. "Why should we interfere with their private matters?"

"But if their reasons are the latter -"

"Then we will finish them off when the time comes. For now, gentlemen, sit back and enjoy the show." He sighed regretfully on the other end of the line. "I wish I could be there to see if the jackals go for each others' throats! Keep me posted."

Click, buzz. The line went to dead static.

"Niisan?" Nardus asked worriedly. He saw how his more staid brother's hand flexed into a fist.

"Kid's cocky," Siem responded of Akira, his tone at least regal and smooth, sounding unconcerned. "That, too, can be read either way."

Nardus left the moment alone, then said after a time, "Do we pick them up now, while they're together?"

His brother shook his head, silvery sheen catching the dim light with a blue tint. "When it's been twenty-four hours on the dot," he replied, "we'll do it, separately. I want them to remain separate."

"Huh?"

"I don't trust them," Siem's eyes glistened with a wicked fire, "together."

* * *

Ken stalked out of the trailer, forcing his steps to remain collected and in control. But his pace was over-exerted and his spine stiff, all the implications of someone hurriedly uncertain. He wasn't fully geared up, but for protection, Aya's and Yoji's, he put on one of his bagh nakhs. He flexed his hand inside the leather gauntlet. _Dammit!_

Approaching the haggling group of rival assassins, Ken heard Schuldig ask pertly, "Are you gonna go get him, or what?"

"No."

Ken's forceful word made everyone jerk in surprise and turn to him in confusion; Yoji's jaw dropped, and Aya's expression fell into darkness. Crawford parted his lips in an aghast manner, and Schuldig lost all trace of the fun-loving villain. Schwarz had gone into killer mode, alert and ready to pounce.

Schuldig growled, "What was that?"

"Ken!" Yoji barked in a distraught surprise.

Crawford uncrossed his arms from over his chest and said in a cold tone of voice, "What's going on, Weiß?" He was gazing hard at Aya, distrust now glinting in his eyes. "We had an agreement, did we not?"

"I don't see Omi out here," Ken countered quickly. _Try to make it look like their fault... Oh, dammit! _

"What are you implying, my dear boy?" Crawford turned his heavy gaze to Ken, his countenance holding all the authority of a principal addressing a disobedient student.

Ken's eyes narrowed at the word "boy". _What a jerk!_ he thought bluntly, saying aloud, "I was just curious as to why you don't have Omi with you, right here."

He moved stridently to stand in front of Aya and Yoji, his body language clearly stating they had nothing to do with it, much to his fellow members' stunned anger. Yoji made as if to say something, knock some sense into Ken, but Aya motioned slightly with his hand. Later, it meant. They would talk about it later. Not in front of Schwarz. Aya and Yoji could now only be witness to this disaster.

Crawford snapped back elegantly, "The same reason you hold on to Nagi."

"We can't trust each other," Ken said with an affirmative bob of his head, his lanky dark brown hair brushing across his features.

"Who can't trust whom, heh?" Schuldig spat, and with a lightning-fast swiftness, he crossed the few steps left between them, hand darting out to grab Ken viciously by the wrist. He harshly yanked his arm up, squeezing his hand so brutally that the bagh nakh's blades extended. Schuldig's eyes held Ken's through the blades of the claws separating their faces. Ken managed to seal his lips from any outcry of pain, but his eyes betrayed him, he knew.

"You came to us _armed_!" Schuldig released his iron grip on Ken's wrist, and he pushed him away and to the ground. Now, Schuldig loomed over him with all the rage from hell. "You are the ones not to be believed! Now where is Nagi?"

Suddenly Aya was between them, his arms opened defensively to guard Ken, his eyes challenging, forcing the German to back down. Of course, Schuldig was having none of it. Instead, he got up into Aya's face, and the Cheshire Cat grin had returned.

"Protecting your loved one," he cooed in his toying manner, sinister and angry, "or just your lover?" Ken made a disgusted, strangled sound, but Aya's expression didn't alter, not giving in to his mind games.

"Enough," came Crawford's voice, thickened by the bothersome annoyance. He suddenly turned to where his car was parked and waved his hand once across the open air, a signal. Farfarello started the engine.

"It seems you're having your own differences about this exchange," Crawford continued. "If the three of you cannot agree whether or not your other member is that important to you, then I have no choice but to keep him." He met Ken's devastated eyes, held his gaze for a long time. "As our prisoner."

"You won't fight us?" Ken challenged; he pleaded. "Your other member isn't worth it?" Forgetting his promise, Ken tried to hold on to that moment a little longer - the moment in which they could have gotten Omi back. _God damn it!_

"At present," said Crawford; Schuldig looked to him, awaiting his answer, as well. "No. We have a bigger threat facing us at the moment. The boy would understand that, as well. As Schwarz."

Schuldig turned to face the Weiß team's grotesquely pink trailer, his expression thoughtful yet zoned out. He reached out, not with his physical hand, but with the touch of his mind. He knew what Nagi's mind felt like, the honey-sweet thoughts of his youthful brain, made bitter by his hateful emotions and quiet sarcasm - he knew it all too well. And he felt it now, as his own mind brushed Nagi's in an instant after opening up. He was alive inside the trailer, and he knew straight away that the boy was in pain. His thoughts were all over the place, suffering, and it hurt Schuldig to touch it. But he did; he had to. Weiß wasn't going to be of any use.

_Schuldig._

He sent the boy one of his usual grins through thought and sensation. _Who else? You can read me all right, then, heh? What's going on? _

_Leave. _

Schuldig made his surprise clear. _We can handle Wei__ß__, Nagi. Don't worry - _

Nagi's thoughts were sad. _I know,_ he told him. _Just leave me._

_What? What's gotten into you, chibi?_ Suddenly he hit a wall, and jerked back in surprise. It couldn't be? Nagi had thrown up a barrier around his mind. He had blocked him out? Schuldig's eyes hardened, caught on the trailer fixedly. _Why?_ he shot back, confused. _What are you trying to pull?_ Then he felt Crawford's hand on his shoulder, a slight pressure from his grip that meant to back off.

"As Schwarz," the American was saying, "Nagi understands. I wonder, what your boy will think of your refusal to get him back safely?" Schuldig took the hint and turned back to the car, followed by Crawford.

The three members of Weiß stood there dumbly, numbed by the horrible course the supposedly easy meeting took. Ken stayed on the cold earth, his hands clenched tightly into fists, and he ground the claws of his one hand into the frozen dirt with a constrained growl. _Damn you,_ he thought. _Damn you, Nagi!_

They watched as the black Schwarz car sped away, the bright morning sun rising behind them, the warm rays filtering in through the trees, a cheerful contrast to the awful pain they felt. They lost. They had lost their chance to get Omi back. And what would Schwarz do with him now? As Yoji and Aya returned to the car, Ken stood slowly, as if his entire body were in agony. His eyes remained on the spot where the car had disappeared.

_Please, Omi,_ he begged. _Please forgive me._

_

* * *

_

Omi felt Schuldig's frustration and anger as he threw him down roughly onto the bed, back once again in his apartment. It had been hard getting a captive child into the civilian building, but it was early enough that everyone was, for the most part, still asleep. Those who weren't knew the German well enough to hold their tongues. He could care less about rumors.

Omi flinched when he felt the German's hand against his face, but he merely tore the blindfold from his eyes. He squinted against the morning light, felt his eyes water up against the onslaught. His hands were shackled, but not his legs. And Schuldig left it that way. Omi didn't really care. He just wondered what had happened back there, with his friends.

"I feel sorry for you, brat," Schuldig said from the doorway. Omi looked at him, confused. He meant it, he realized, shocked by the fact that the German was being sincere. Not only that, but he could see something else in his slanted eyes: hurt. "They didn't want you back after all the trouble we went to." No sarcasm, Omi noted. He was being oddly sensitive...

Schuldig turned to lean into the frame, his posture tired and worn. "But in his mind..." he started, and he turned to meet Omi's gaze. The German's eyes were distant. "Just so you know, brat, it wasn't by choice."

Schuldig left him then, closing and locking the door behind him. _Hidaka's thoughts were only of you._ And this time, the mind reader of Schwarz's thoughts were only for himself to hear. Privately, he wondered what the hell happened to Nagi.

Omi pulled himself up into a sitting position with a sigh. It touched him for some reason, the fact the Schwarz was being open so suddenly. But they had told him he would be returned. He understood why they left him in the car to listen to Farfarello breathe, not able to see. It was a matter of trust. He understood that. _But they seem to be men of their words. So is Aya-kun. Then what had happened back there? _

_

* * *

_

Schuldig stormed into his little kitchen area, finding Crawford leveling a measuring cup to make coffee. Farfarello was in the living room, where he and his knives were sitting comfortably on the sofa and watching mid-morning cartoons. The high-pitched, unnatural voices and goofy sound effects were annoying and loud so early. But Schuldig tuned it out, and focused on his own thoughts. He was debating whether or not to inform them all of Nagi's little request to leave him with Weiß.

"What are we gonna do now?" he finally asked, leaning back against his shiny marble counter top.

Crawford seemed amused and laid back. "We wait."

"Wait, heh?" Schuldig hefted himself up to sit on the marble top, leaning his head back against the oak cupboards. He winced when his scalp connected with a brass handle instead, and continued, "Waiting for what?"

"Our invitation," said the American, spooning sugar into his mug without any concerns.

Schuldig began swinging his dangling legs like a bored child. At long last he spoke again, and the dismal tone was anything but childlike. "Something happened to Nagi," said he.

"I would hope so," said Crawford. "To ignore our agreement like that, something pretty drastic would have had to come up. Whatever reared its ugly head can wait. We have to move on to the next stage now."

"But what about this Weiß kid? Are we gonna off him?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"But we can't keep dragging him along with us everywhere we go."

"Indeed."

A knock at the front door interrupted their conversation. Even though he was in the same room, Farfarello made no attempts to answer their caller, so Schuldig did so, all but throwing himself off the counter and into the other room. He unchained the door and opened it without a greeting.

Siem smiled back at him, and patted his breast pocket. Schuldig nodded vaguely, implying that he did know he wore a shoulder holster and that a gun was there. Nice and neat, and nothing to horrify the waking neighbors. Siem said pleasantly, in his seductively quiet tone, "Good morning, gentlemen! Are we ready for the meeting?"

Schuldig wrinkled his nose in distaste, and his lip curled back in a feral way. Before he could say a thing in return, sarcastic or otherwise, Crawford said from behind him, casually, as if it were all some sort of social business call, "Welcome. Would you care for a cup of coffee?"

* * *

"Ken! You'd better have one hell of a good excuse!" Yoji vented, leaving Aya to take over the wheel. They left the park at an eased speed. "Start talking!"

Lifting himself off the couch and out of the devastated stupor he fell into, Ken looked Yoji full in the eyes, his mouth set in a firm, angry line. Yoji felt the rage seething from Siberian, so much so that he could almost hear his blood race. He was furious, Yoji realized, even more than Aya and himself. What he had done - it was weird, sure, but forgivable. But not to Ken. He would never forgive himself for abandoning Omi like that. Whatever the reason, Yoji knew it would be better not to force it from him now.

Still fuming, Yoji backed off, planting an irritated fist on one hip in annoyance. He watched Ken stalk out of the room, heading to Bombay's sleeping quarters. _Idiot,_ thought Yoji to himself. _If it's all because of that kid, we should have given him back!_ He shook his head at the absurd foolishness of it all. They really were in a pathetic situation.

* * *

Ken stormed like an angry whirlwind into Omi's room, that thought alone heightening his rage even more, and slammed the door closed behind him. Nagi was still huddled in the corner, his eyes slightly glazed over and out of focus. He didn't even seem to register any kind of thought or emotion when Ken grabbed him by the shoulders and practically lifted him off the floor, dragging him to the bed where he roughly forced him to sit. The boy-Schwarz was shaking, but he seemed too out of it to really understand anything.

Ken knelt down in front of him, and with the boy sitting on the bed as he was, they were almost eye-level. In a strained and dark voice, Ken demanded, "I did what you asked me to, with no questions. Now I think you owe me an explanation."

Nagi blinked, as if he were coming back to himself, and said, in a soft voice that was distant, "I'm sorry."

"You don't owe me an apology," Ken said, softening his voice just a bit. All his sympathy for the child was returning, but he tried hard to quench it as pity wasn't going to do either of them any good. "I only want to know why you don't want to return to your friends?"

Watching his own hands, Nagi replied, "Because... I can't help them anymore."

"What?"

"I have no powers any longer. Without them, I could never be Schwarz. I couldn't face them. I'd be useless now."

Ken titled his head to try and see better into Nagi's lost eyes. "Are you afraid they'd hurt you without your powers?"

"No," he whispered. "Not Schwarz. They saved me, in a way." Nagi turned his face further away; he still would not let Ken see into his eyes, knowing his eyes were the window to his soul. He didn't want one of Weiß to see into his heart. "I don't want to burden them. Without my powers, should anything happen..."

He fell silent, but he had explained enough for Ken to understand. He was afraid of not being able to save those of Schwarz in return, should they ever face danger together. And that's exactly what they were getting into. By not going back, he thought he'd save Schwarz from his inability to overpower the enemy. But did that give them a better chance at surviving this new threat? And now, by not upholding their agreement to return members, Ken put Weiß in a bad position. _Schwarz will be pissed at us for this. Did I do the right thing? _

"So," Ken asked gently, "You never want to go back to Schwarz again?"

"Not like this," was the answer. "I'm nothing now. I am no longer Schwarz."

Ken felt a pang of pity reach his heart, despite his best efforts to keep it away, but it was short lived when the trailer suddenly came to an immediate halt. Ken pitched backwards, catching himself in an awkward tangle with his legs and one hand flung back, while Nagi griped the edge of the bed, easily avoiding whiplash.

Jumping to his feet, Ken moved for the door, racing into the inner room with a questioning, "What happened?"

Yoji didn't say anything, but the two of them instantly went to join Aya in the driver's seat. They stopped dead, crammed into the tiny compartment, as all three stared out of the windshield, understanding yet agog. The side street beyond was void of any activity, except for one black sedan parked diagonal across the lanes, blocking their way.

"I guess that's his calling card?" said Yoji, putting his index finger to the frame of his shades and pushing them tighter to the bridge of his nose. He shook his head with dark amusement.

"What now?" Ken inquired.

"We've been officially summoned, I guess," Yoji responded. He waved to the other car, as if they were all friendly. Turning back to those inside, he said, "Shall we?"

Aya agreed. "It's time."

Inside the black sedan, Nardus bared his fanged smile in anticipation.


	13. Dreizehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Dreizehn (Thirteen)

Akira Yori turned when the door to his office opened, allowing two of the Weiß members inside, guarded closely from behind by Nardus, who had a pump-action rifle slung against his shoulder in a casual way. Akira smiled, a sympathetic expression about his presence, when he looked to Aya Fujimiya and Yoji Koudou. "I hear things didn't go so well this morning at the park. Is that so, gentlemen?"

Yoji blinked in surprise, managing to keep much of his emotion under wraps until he fully understood this new person standing before him. But Aya, used to the smarmy, mocking attitude of the boy, replied rudely, "I don't think we need to tell you. It seems you already know."

"Mmm," said the teenager in affirmation, seating himself behind his desk. "I do. I assume then, that is why Ken-san is not joining us. Keeping an eye on your imprisoned Schwarz?" No one answered him, but he didn't seem to take much offense or interest in it. Instead he said, changing the subject, "I will hear your reply when the others arrive. In the meantime, my dear Yoji-san, have you been informed of the situation?"

With his typical spitfire demeanor and playboy tilt of the head, Yoji smirked. "I heard of a young mastermind with enough ambition to take over the whole of Tokyo." Akira beamed. "But I've yet to meet him. All I see before me now is a spoiled sixteen year old who looks as if he's never had a date."

With little warning but a heavy footstep, the butt of Nardus' rifle met Yoji's spine so brutally it drove him to his knees, forcing all the air from his lungs. Aya rounded on Nardus, only to come face to face with the sharp, snapping _click_ of a round being pumped into the chamber and the muzzle aimed between his eyes. Even if he were not at such close range, a weapon like that would shatter his entire head like a melon exploding. He instantly froze, lowering his head in acceptance; his hard eyes held Nardus', who shook his head at Aya as if to call him a fool. Yoji knelt on the ground, winded and gagging in any air he could get, one hand to his throat. Akira laughed merrily.

"Spoiled?" he mused through his mirth. "No one's ever said that to my face before." He opened his eyes, and they were bitterly reminiscent. "I heard things like that behind my back, of course, from the others in my class. They, too, never understood the price I had to pay for being in the family I was born to. To an extent, I could forgive them their immature comments. However, not the type of remark I would have expected from a great White Hunter. How childish!"

Coughing, Yoji muttered thickly, "Touché."

Not exactly an apology, but Akira seemed satisfied with it, eyes glittering. As Yoji was gaining his feet, the sound of footsteps echoed to them from the stairway, and soon Siem escorted in Crawford and Farfarello. Akira nodded his head as if he had expected nothing less. For a moment, Yoji and Siem locked gazes, Siem wearing a 'Do you remember me?' cocky grin. Yoji vaguely bobbed his head, thinking, _Now I see._ The Kritiker's leak.

Then he and Aya glared heavily at the Schwarz members, who eyed them back in the same fashion, despite the fact none of them present had actually ruined the past events; and each knew that. Still, it didn't keep Crawford from holding Aya's gaze, swapping looks of bloodlust and distrust. They were on bad terms. And now, the meeting would begin.

Said Akira to Schwarz, "Poor Schuldig has to miss out on this turning point, I understand, to keep watch on dear, little Omi-kun?" He eyed Weiß strangely. "Or should I say Mamoru-kun?" They glared at him; he had driven home the point that he knew everything, each deep, dark secret ever kept on record or file. What Kritiker knew, so did he.

"No matter," continued the head of Betrüger. "I've heard he has a nasty temper anyway. But I see you brought Farfarello with you, Mr. Crawford. The man notorious for having no physical feelings." He stood from behind his desk, cocking his head to look into Farfarello's lone eye. "That must be - unique?"

Farfarello merely stared back at the boy in his usual, dead-pan way, all thoughts and emotions locked away into a brain so messed up that not even Schuldig dared intrude without permission, for fear of being caught in his web of loathing and raving. The white haired man tipped his head, though, to show he had at least heard him. Creeping closer to the psychotic Schwarz, as if in awe, Akira Yori watched the Irishman from under his black bangs, shadows playing across his smiling face. For some reason, Nardus looked jittery, fingering the trigger of his rifle; his brother looked amused.

Finally, Farfarello curled his lips away in a deadly smile in return and said, "Not so unique as all that. God has cursed me, and so Satan branded me with a gift."

Akira flashed his white teeth, as if he had just witnessed something truly miraculous. He said gleefully, "How biblical! Your way of thinking is truly your own."

Farfarello blinked his single eye, his dull expression one of acceptance of a compliment, yet confused by his words. Aya and Yoji could only listen in on this odd exchange, but Crawford stepped closer to his comrade, wondering what the boy was up to with his playful remarks and inclinations. He would soon find out when Akira said, "May I have a demonstration of your power?"

A tip of his head, and suddenly Siem lashed forward, his hand snapping out to display a fine edged dagger, no bigger than an envelope-opener, between his fingers. He grabbed Farfarello's right hand without much concern, smashing it onto the top of Akira's desk so as to splay out his fingers. And to Yoji, Aya and Crawford's dismay, he drove the tip of the blade through Farfarello's hand, hearing the wet _thunck!_ as it tore clear through to the wood of the desk, pinning his hand there. Akira grinned when Farfarello did not cry out in pain, made no whimper of discomfort, nor one sole sound of confused horror. Instead, he stood there, allowed Siem to stab him, and watched with all the care of a bored child. Just stood there. No feeling. No emotion. Absolutely no pain.

"Wow." Akira breathed the word, thoroughly impressed. Meanwhile, Nardus' nose wrinkled back in utter disgust, his own right hand flexing unconsciously at the mere thought of it. Siem's eyes were hard and pondering; he was not impressed, and he didn't like what he witnessed.

Yoji made a guttural sound of distaste in the back of his throat, and muttered, "Do you feel like a big boy now?"

"Hey," Nardus growled in warning.

Akira said, bemused, "And why should you care, Yoji-san? He is Schwarz, after all."

"He's still a person," replied Yoji, much to his own bewilderment. He couldn't believe he had just said that about Freak Boy of Schwarz. Yet he managed to keep his expression one of disdain, his hard eyes fixed on the boy-leader of Betrüger in anger. He was a brat, indeed, and, Yoji thought to himself, maybe more of a monster than all of Schwarz combined. Dangerous, to say the least. This was not a good sign for their future.

As if he hadn't heard the entire exchange, Farfarello simply shrugged his well-muscled shoulders, not so sure what the whole fuss was about, and took hold of the hilt of the dagger, jerking it free from both the desk and the fleshy, bloody confines of his own hand. The fingerless glove strapped to his hand by leather buckles around his wrist was growing more wet, blood thickly blossoming from the fresh hole. He paid it no mind, but Crawford stepped forward, whipping out a cotton handkerchief from the breast pocket of his well-pressed business suit and bandaging Farfarello's hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. It made Aya and Yoji gawk, and Akira smirk.

As he tended Farfarello's undeserved wound, Crawford's face was darkened by anger, his black brows knit together and his eyes full of shadows. He said, his deep voice raspy with annoyed rage, "We didn't come here to show you our capabilities." Farfarello smiled, licking the front of his teeth. Both waited.

"Quite so." Akira Yori was suddenly changed, from excitable yet sinister child, to prompt businessman. He said pertly, "Now then. Do you have an answer for me? Weiß?"

He turned to Aya and Yoji, and for a brief moment, Aya shared a glance with Crawford. Yoji said, "We do."

"Tell me."

Said Aya, "We will accept your offer."

Giving him a pleased, crooked grin, Akira made a _humph_ sound of approval through his nose, and instantly turned to Crawford. "And what from Schwarz?"

"Seeing as there is hardly any choice, and wishing to remain one of the more powerful in the underworld," responded Crawford, "we, too, must accept your offer."

Quickly the joyful schoolboy returned, giving them both a bright, charming smile. He said, sounding innocently relieved, "Good! I am so happy to hear that, gentlemen! Good news, isn't it, Siem? Nardus?" His men made no reply, and they were not expected to; yet Siem looked thoroughly _unhappy_, as if they were merely standing there to be played with. Akira continued, "I truly am happy to welcome you aboard our little endeavor!"

Yoji flicked his shoulders as if uncomfortable, saying in confusion, "Is that it then? We're free to go?"

"Sure," came the satisfied reply. "I will call on you boys, should I need you. Until then, return to your lives. You may even leave without your blindfolds this time." Nardus started, concerned; he looked to his brother for reassurance, but it wasn't given.

"That easy?" Yoji wasn't buying his mocking sweetness. "What about your boys here? I've seen this one before," he said rigidly, jabbing an accusing finger at Siem. "He's Kritiker, huh? You all play dumb so easily." Siem shot the Weiß member a hateful look, remembering that Yoji had been there with Manx when -

"What about your ransom demand?" It was Aya's baritone voice that came so sure, and not at all inquisitive.

Siem and Akira exchanged a look of suspicion. The Yori boy asked nastily, "What of it?" Taunting darkness played across his face, which had jumped back into an expression of evil intentions.

"We're not so free as you make it seem," he challenged back.

Yoji interjected, "You think we believe you after all this? Are you truly a man of your word?"

"My demand was for my own purposes," said Akira. "Right now, that's all you need know."

"We agreed to join in your plans," said Aya bluntly. "Doesn't that make us Betrüger?"

Akira Yori smiled then, pleased, sinister, as if the two Weiß had found him out, yet still played directly into his set trap. His charm, his lying innocence, it all made the redhead seethe, and Aya's entire frame seemed to tense; he wanted to kill him at the very moment. Was he setting them up again?

But suddenly Crawford said, "Forgive me, however, I can appreciate my fellow assassins feelings of distrust regarding all of this. I feel there is something to your proposal. We get to survive since we've agreed." Akira nodded. "Though something must assuredly be asked in return, correct? What is it that you get from us?"

Akira put his hands into the pockets of his pants and seemed to get more excited. "You certainly are quick on the draw, Mr. Crawford! Bravo!" He titled his head again in that all too familiar way, once more smiling every second. "Indeed, I still have a question of trust, myself. You know my agenda, my very thoughts and feelings on this whole situation. But still, I tried to kill you. I expect there to be hard feelings. I accept that. But in order for you to clinch this deal, to finalize the transaction of joining our ranks, I would ask you to do me a favor."

"A favor?" Aya said, close to a growl, "What is that?"

Akira flashed his teeth in a smile. "You hadn't guessed?"

Weiß and Schwarz tensed, not liking the tone in his voice. Everything was going exactly as he wished it, thus far. Akira replied at last, "Since that time when I couldn't see you all in your graves, I've been planning this. How to make you a part of Betrüger in a way we would all benefit and feel at ease. To leave behind all burdens of the daylight, I'd ask you to take out the final bothersome obstacle.

"Gentlemen, I would ask you to sever the final tie holding us all back. End Kritiker." Both Siem and Nardus grinned wickedly. "The ones who hold Weiß at bay, like dogs on a leash, and curb Schwarz and Betrüger in the same way."

"What?" Aya and Yoji gasped simultaneously; Aya's violet eyes narrowed, and Yoji felt his mind start to whirl. That was something they didn't expect to hear. Fight Kritiker! The agency which gave Weiß their purpose and backing?

"Your target," said Akira richly, "is Takeshi Yori. Show me your worth and the finality of your decision by destroying the head of Kritiker. Kill my father."

* * *

Wearing the hunter green sweater he was given, Nagi Naoe sat on the bed that belonged to Omi and gazed languidly out the tiny window, staring at the scraggly treetops and rising buildings outside. He wasn't certain where they had parked, but he did hear two of the Weiß members leave, saw them out of the corner of this all-too-small window and get into a black sedan. They had been called upon to answer Betrüger's demand. Yet the other one, Ken, had remained behind with him. Again.

_Why has he made himself my personal guard?_ he thought to himself. _He's always being kind to me. Why?_ Sighing, Nagi realized he had forced Weiß to put themselves between him and Schwarz, and right now both groups were at the Deceiver's headquarters, stalling; they had always planned to fight him. But how long must they play his puppets before the uprising? Could there be an uprising against him now, even if he had made Weiß and Schwarz go for each others' throats once more?

_What have I done?_ It was all his fault. Had he ruined their plans, as well? Would Schwarz survive now? They could without him, he knew. He was only Crawford's little prodigy, not yet a head of the organization; he was still too young. Young... they didn't need a kid with no powers tagging along after them. He realized, with much regret, that they would probably want him to come home despite the loss of his telekinesis, but he didn't want to burden them. Schwarz was no place for just another useless drone. He had no doubt that not going back to them was for the best.

But could they survive Akira Yori without their agreement with Weiß? He had shattered any plans they had made, any hope at defeating him while lasting the game. And now what could he do? He certainly could not stay with Weiß. He wasn't one of them, he would never be. True, they had no special powers or gifts like the heads of Schwarz, but he also lacked what they held most. A caring heart. They cared for people, enough to save them from him. He could never join them. _But that kindness he's shown to me. No one's ever... I've never had that before. Not like that... _

There was only one choice. To run away. As he did those few years back. That time Crawford had saved him, taken him in. This time, it was forever. He would be just another youth gone missing, like those he saw on the backs of milk cartons. Except of course, no one cared enough about him to post pictures everywhere in search of him. But then again, Schwarz had hunted out every last shred of his existence when he joined, erasing every photograph and legal document on Nagi Naoe. It was as if he had never even been born.

Nagi sniffed in sad, bitter amusement at that thought. _Never been born?_ That would have been a blessing.

His mind made up, Nagi rose off the bed and crept to the door. It took him a moment to remember, with a depressed sigh, that he had to physically turn the knob to make it open, which it did, immediately. It wasn't locked. _They fear me no longer, too,_ he told himself. _I'm completely helpless. They know that._ Trying to shrug it off, and not succeeding, Nagi moved silently into the tiny hall, lingering there, listening.

There was no sound at all, not one single tell-tale sign of any other living presence in the trailer. He thought that strange, but then, realized it wasn't. He was just a boy, no longer truly wounded. He didn't bear close watching. Nagi moved out into the living area, and looked around idly. The couch was a mess of scattered pillows and sheets, a cup of coffee still sitting on the table in front of it. Everything seemed a young bachelor's mess, in disarray but yet with its own sorry excuse for organization. He didn't understand any of it in the least.

With disregard, Nagi headed for the door, took the handle in his hand, and swung it open. He was free. Yet, not really at all. Closing the door behind him, Nagi padded down the steps of the closed flower shop, suddenly feeling the nip of the chilled breeze sink its way to his skin through the knitting of the sweater. It was getting too cold to be outside without a coat. He had a warm one back at Schwarz, he thought. Not that it did him any good anymore. Hugging himself against the cold air, Nagi turned to survey the streets they had parked on. They looked like every other residential roads. _Does it matter?_ he asked himself. _Just run. No direction, no thoughts. Just leave. _

He heaved in a lungful of burning cold air, released it in a sigh, and turned on his heels, walking down the sidewalk in no particular direction. The trailer was only a few feet behind him when he finally heard it; children laughing, and the sound of them playing happily. In the middle of the street, bounding from sidewalk to sidewalk, he saw them, two little boys, barely ten years old, kicking around an old soccer ball. With Ken Hidaka.

They were all laughing sweetly, and the sounds and sights of someone experiencing fun sounded awkwardly foreign to Nagi Naoe's ears. All he could do was stand there, arms wrapped about him, and watch their little tournament. Ken was extraordinarily wonderful with the ball, his lithe frame contorting to catch it whenever it went astray, skilled enough to flash it between his feet, bounce it off his knees. He could have played for the J-League. But, Nagi realized, he was even better with the children. His antics and showing off was only to please them, and he would foolishly miss the ball, or dive in a sprawling tangle of arms and legs for it when the boys were around. He was letting them win, but having a fabulous time doing it. Here and there he would also stop and give instructions, like a coach, helping them to better their game.

Nagi shook himself awake from watching them, knowing if he was seen, there would be no chance to escape the Weiß member. He backed off a few steps, wondering why he was hesitating. It was between a bout of kicking the ball and handing out instructions when Ken noticed Nagi. The soccer ball rolled past him when the one boy kicked it to him; Ken's eyes were fixed on Nagi, outside, his expression one of surprise. Nagi swore under his breath.

And suddenly, oddly, Ken smiled, and Nagi gasped lightly. His smile was genuine, relieved - beautiful. Ken gave a small wave of his hand, and leaned over to say something to the one child; both boys turned and waved to Nagi, calling him over. Old feelings, buried emotions suddenly slammed him, memories of the distant past before Schwarz and Weiß existed in his life. Taunting, teasing, abuse. And all he could do in return was shiver, and hug himself tighter. He couldn't; he hated people, hated to be around them. He wasn't like them. He was an outcast.

_But my ability…_ It was gone. Still, he knew he would always be the outcast. Suddenly, from the torture of his drowning memories, Nagi noticed the soccer ball roll easily over to him. Without knowing why he did it, Nagi stopped it with the ball of his foot, holding it immobile with his toes. Ken smiled at him again, then said something more to the children. There came an instant, disappointed chorus of, "Awww!"

Nagi wondered what exactly he was telling them. "The freak doesn't want to play." "He has no clue how to even kick a ball!" "He's too retarded, he doesn't understand." Nagi winced from the reminiscent thoughts, the throb in his left arm returned with the memory of playing kickball at school, when the other boys used to purposefully aim and kick it so hard it would bruise him.

He shook himself, watching as Ken knelt before the kids, apologizing with his charming smile. Soon they were shrugging, running off back to their homes and normal childhood lives, waving goodbye and giggling merrily. Nagi felt his stomach tighten into knots.

And then Ken was meandering over to him, in a good mood, smiling still. _Smiling at me? He looks like he's glad to see me._

"I guess you feel better, huh?" Ken said happily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. He stopped some ways away and asked, "Wanna play?"

Nagi blinked, confused, and Ken explained, "I told the boys you had been ill and couldn't move around so much. They've been sick before, bedridden, they know what it's like. It's okay. But I knew the real reason you wouldn't come over was because you're not use to social contact."

"You think I'm a freak," Nagi muttered coldly, waiting to hear it repeated in affirmation.

Ken's lips parted in a stunned pity. He said gently, "I think you've been bullied too much in your life. You're used to people who abuse you." Nagi braved enough to look him in the eyes, then looked quickly away when Ken said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't pretend to know about your life." Then his attitude instantly brightened, trying to send away the dark moment. "Well, if you want to, I still feel up to a little game."

Nagi met his eyes once more, searching his face for any sign of teasing or deception. But he found none, nothing but the brilliant smile of someone being open and honest. How could this Weiß member read him so candidly? Were his memories so clearly written on his face? How could he know? Then, Nagi realized, it wasn't because he was so obvious. It was because Ken was good with children, he knew how to take care of them, understood their young way of thinking. And that angered Nagi. _He sees me, now, not as an enemy - but as a normal child. Nothing! I'm nothing special to him!_ He would have rather been an enemy!

Feeling as if he were being treated no better than either of those kids he only recently met in the street, Nagi kicked the soccer ball so forcefully it slammed into Ken's lower leg, knocking him off-step, losing his balance. Ken winced in aching pain, stooping over to put a hand against his injured leg, rubbing what would definitely turn black and blue in a matter of minutes under his jeans. His gaze was slightly hurt, and entirely bewildered.

In his deep, soft-spoken voice, Nagi said indignantly, "I don't like games." Ken saw his small hands clench into fists at his sides as he knelt down to pick up the worn ball.

Making a confused sound deep under his breath, Ken mumbled, "Sorry. I didn't mean to -" Finally he broke off, no longer certain he knew what was troubling the boy-Schwarz enough to make a proper apology. He let it go, shrugging his shoulders a little. He started towards the trailer, and Nagi, whose eyes were closed and head lowered.

Ken stopped beside him, looking him up and down. He asked, "Were you leaving?" Nagi opened his eyes, and the look within the blue depths had all the expression of the prodigy killer once more. He didn't reply, but while he did not show it, he was slightly stunned when Ken said to him, "The sweater looks good on you, but it's still cold."

And even more to his jumbled emotions, Nagi felt Ken take off his jacket and set it over his shoulders, all without touching him. Then Ken turned back to the trailer and hinted, "They should be back with word from the meeting soon. We'll have to decide what we're gonna do." He waited.

_Yes. We will have to decide…_ Nagi said to himself. His decision had been found out, and he felt his escape had been hindered. He had no choice but to return to the moving floral shop with Ken, codename Siberian. And he did, wondering the entire time why he was following Ken around as if they were friends.

* * *

_I wouldn't have guessed he smoked._ Omi sat cross-legged on the bed watching his appointed guard blow perfect rings of smoke using his nicotine-ridden breaths. Schuldig sat on a black cushioned chair in his own room where Omi was still held prisoner, leaning the back of the chair against the wall and his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, his shiny booted feet resting against his dresser. He was bored, and he was sulking.

Schuldig had wanted to go with Crawford himself when they were summoned by Akira Yori, but as punishment for continually tormenting the little Weiß boy, the American had ordered him to remain behind and keep an eye, and only an eye, on him. The German hadn't put up as much of a fight as he would have had Siem not been present, and now he was too much in a bad mood to even take it out on Omi. Or did he fear invoking Crawford's wrath? Whatever the reasons, he sat silently taking lengthy drags on his cigarette, which surprised Omi a bit; his bachelor's pad was so thoroughly neat and clean, and had none of the stale, musty, gagging stench of their pink van, thanks to Yoji.

Suddenly that familiar sensation intruded into his brain, and Omi heard Schuldig's mind-voice say, somewhat bitterly, _I only smoke when I'm not having any fun._ Aloud, he mocked, "Or maybe it's 'cuz I'm stressed out." He sucked in another lungful, and hissed it out between his pearly whites. "What the hell ever."

_Crap!_ Omi cursed himself. _He's listening in on me again!_ And he tried his best to envision a wall up around his thoughts. He didn't know what he was doing, or if he was even accomplishing anything; he wasn't use to being around someone with abilities such as Schuldig could display. It was an uncanny, _uncomfortable_ feeling!

Another long, drawn out moment of silence lapsed between them. Schuldig wasn't in a chatty mood as he usual was, probably because he had been ordered not to "play" with their captive one, and Omi had always kept his lips well sealed. But lack of using his voice was growing tiresome on the young boy, who hadn't been outside of the apartment's sole bedroom in awhile, except for the trip to the park, which wasn't exactly the outing he'd been hoping for.

Omi sat staring at Schuldig, watching him tiredly smoke his dying cigarette, staring at the ceiling as if counting every little nook and cranny in the tiles above his head. The German sighed, soft and bothered. Chewing his lower lip, Omi began to think back to their last "conversation" when Schuldig had nearly crushed his jaw. Omi wandered through the entagled mess of pain and suffering Schuldig had nailed him with; he had been curious even then. Now, left alone, sitting in mute discomfort and stillness, it was nagging at him.

"Quit staring at me," Schuldig suddenly snipped without turning his gaze over.

Braving the moment, Omi inquired politely, "Umm, those images you were showing me before, about your friend. Was it real?"

"Farfarello, you mean?" Schuldig gave a slanted, sly grin, and Omi was praying he hadn't messed the whole situation up. Finally the German said in his pinched tone of voice, "Worried about my skills, heh, chibi?" When all Omi could reply with was a forced stammering of useless words, Schuldig continued, bemused, "Yeah, they were real, though not many know of his past. Or any of our past lives. But then of course, you met Ruth."

Omi recalled the time with Ken, who had been deeply worried and touched by the former nun, Farfarello's birth mother. Times like that had always angered Omi, but now, it was as if he were viewing them in an entirely different way, as if seeing them through someone else's eyes. Through Schwarz-colored lenses, as it were. It was queer. And disturbing. Omi feared his very beliefs about the two rival groups were altering. Was that a bad thing?

"But what -"

"When he was locked away," revealed Schuldig quickly. And his voice dropped to an angry growl. Omi could only think one scattered thought at that: _Uh-oh._ "Back then, low-budget doctors thought lobotomy operations and shock-therapy would help mental problems. What a crock, eh?"

Omi glanced at the floor, remembering. "They did that to him?"

Schuldig scoffed nastily. "You think he wound up like that all on his own? Natural born psycho?" He inhaled sharply on the cigarette. "That pisses me off," he wheezed through lungs with no air. He finally exhaled, then berated, "You think you're the only assassin group with _personal problems_?" He said the last two words in a funny way, mocking. "Everyone has problems."

Feeling a pang of - what exactly? Shame? Pity? He wasn't sure what he felt, but Omi averted his eyes, watching his own feet curled under him, sorry he had brought it up. Schuldig was truly in a fuming rage, and now Omi was feeling sorry for the one who had murdered his sister. Without really realizing it, Omi questioned, in a voice barely audible, "What does _mami_ mean?" Schuldig jerked, and tensed. "It's German, isn't it?"

"Halt die Klappe," he spat out, seemingly unconscious it was his mother tongue in which he replied. "You talk too much, brat. How do the other Weiß guys stand it?"

"Sorry," whispered Omi, as much to his own feet as to the Schwarz member.

The heavy silence that they lapsed into was suffocating, and suddenly Omi was wishing the other two members would return, at least for the added noise. He didn't even hear any life from the other people living in the building, or from the streets outside. Schwarz. What were these guys all about anyway? And why, he wondered, was he starting to care?

Suddenly the German said, "Mother." Quickly, Schuldig looked at his hands nervously. Omi blinked in surprise, not expecting to hear any answers at all. "It means mother. You picked it up out of my own memories. You're too open and sensitive, brat." He seemed uncomfortable, not at all like the Schuldig he had gotten use to. "You should work on that. No one needs a soft killer."

"Why were you thinking about her?" Omi asked, then bit his tongue for prying, especially with an enemy.

"I wasn't thinking about her!" he snapped, frustrated. "She's been long buried!" Omi pondered if he meant dead and buried in her grave, which suddenly sent him into unease, or if he meant he had buried all his thoughts and memories inside his mind. Then he wondered, if there was any difference at all.

Another lingering moment ensued, before Omi dared to find his voice again. "Was that suffering I felt yours, too?"

Schuldig was growing more fidgety, and he stroked his forehead with hectic nerves, cigarette clenched between his two fingers. He never answered, and Omi knew it was because he would have had to say "Yes". It was pitiful to watch the German like this, and he could almost understand Schwarz's combined hatred for everyone and everything, their very loathing of life itself. Almost.

Then, from Schuldig's turned hand that rubbed at his head, Omi caught sight of something he hadn't noticed before. He wondered if anyone noticed it, it was so slight, almost to be invisible. A scar. Across his wrist. An ancient reminder of a deep cut. Omi gasped, realizing his other wrist would bear the same wound. _He tried to -_

_Yes_, came the answer in his head. Schuldig turned to look him in the eyes, and his gaze was clouded and dark. It was a wicked, evil expression, and yet one full of immense torture. _I tried to kill myself._

Omi left his mouth fall open in shock and real understanding. Suicide was something he never totally understood. People said it was a sin, but Omi always felt incredibly emotional for people like that, abandoned souls crying out for help, and not finding anyone to care. He knew that feeling all too well from his dismal past. But he lived beyond that. But some people couldn't do that, finding the only answer in their own endings. It was sad.

_I don't want your pity!_ Schuldig's voice in his head growled. _No one had any for me back then, so I sure as hell don't need it now! _He stood suddenly, and Omi balked, shied away, but the German only paced the floor briefly before stopping to stand in front of his bedroom window.

Schuldig said, his natural voice echoing compared to the stern voice his thoughts had, "If you must know, I was also placed in nervenheilanstalt." He paused, correcting himself with, "An asylum. When I was little. I heard voices in my head, that I didn't know how to control or stop. And not knowing my powers then, I told my parents."

His eyes glazed over from anger of years ago as he spoke aloud in a husky voice, muscles trembling, as if he were fighting to control himself from killing someone. It was a battle indeed. "When my father's beatings didn't drive the demons out, Mami, my mother, sent me away. They put me in a room, and never came back. It was some institute somewhere in Germany, I don't really know where the hell I was. They left me there, alone, to rot. I killed my first man there, too, only a few years later."

Omi caught the pride in that last remark. He was a young killer, and he took pleasure in the thought. Probably because then his gifts weren't valued, were not even understood to himself let alone others around him. But killing, that was tangible. It was a grim understanding and everyone knew what it was. A young killer. _Like me._ For some reason, Omi felt panic. _Am I destined to become like Schwarz?_ he wondered. A frightening future.

Suddenly, as if jumping back into his present self, Schuldig made motions with his hands as if to shoo away the monsters from his memories and said, a little too loudly, "Anyway, a daring escape followed, with a shooting here and a stabbing there, and Schwarz saved me from a droll life as a Rosenkreuz elite. The details I'll leave to your imagination, and the rest is history, as they say."

Omi collapsed into his own thoughts after that. It was sad. No one saw his potential, his special abilities as a person, except Schwarz. With them, and Eszett, and God knows what other underworld organizations, the tormented German had learned to accept his gift, control them, and understand how to use them to his own evil advantages and for the good of Schwarz. Omi could sympathize, even though he didn't fully comprehend it, or approve. _What's happening to me?_ Omi moaned to himself. _I'm starting to -_ He couldn't even think it.

Not understand. Never. But he - cared? Trying to shatter his train of thoughts, Omi said in a small voice, almost begging the Schwarz member, "Please, tell me what's going on?"

Schuldig glared at the boy- Weiß for a moment, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. He licked his lips, wondering what Crawford would say or do in this situation. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders under his double-breasted coat, and said, "Fuck it!" And began at the beginning as he knew it.

* * *

Akira Yori gazed from one face before him to the next, waiting. Then he asked delicately, "Is something the matter? That isn't a problem, is it? I wouldn't want to burden my new friends." Nardus guffawed in the background.

For a time, no one had any words. Aya and Yoji shared a look that was completely astounded and shocked; it was an order they never expected to hear. Granted, they knew Akira would ask _something_ of them, but to end Kritiker altogether was an outrageous thought! Without Kritiker backing Weiß, they were nothing more than criminals. Kritiker's police and political ties was what kept them from becoming like Schwarz, it gave them meaning and reason. Without them…

However, Brad Crawford was smiling. He was thoroughly enjoying the new, heavy moment. He said, "Why should it bother Schwarz? We have always been enemies, at odds with Kritiker. I never really gave much thought to their demise at our own hands, but still, it does have its advantages."

"There you go," said Akira, pleased. "I knew you would jump at my offer. But Weiß, you both look horrified." Aya and Yoji glared at him. "Don't worry, I'm not asking you to murder lovely Miss Manx. Just my father. Without him, the agency will lose all its funding, and crumble."

"One man," said Aya, "doesn't hold the entire foundation."

"That could be true," replied the young mastermind. "However, if Kritiker does not go under, with Siem I have ways of sabotaging the remaining lot, and my men can always hunt them out." Yoji started then, his eyes wide behind his shades. Akira grinned boyishly, knowing the cause of his distress. He quickly threw in, "I know you all care for Miss Manx. You all know Miss Birman, too. I will even sweeten the deal in that case. I will spare both the lovely ladies' lives."

"Is that a threat?" Yoji growled, his hands balling into fists. "If we refuse -"

"It is," smirked Akira. "The two misses will be open prey to my men. And that, now, includes you." He flicked a glance at Schwarz with a devilish air, and continued to taunt Yoji. "I think Farfarello could do some pretty vile and gruesome things to Miss Manx, don't you, Yoji-san?"

Yoji's jaw visibly clenched, his teeth ground together and slightly bared, like a enraged wolf ready to spring forward. Yet this time he remembered to keep his tongue; he could only give Akira a look to kill. The boy smiled that ever-so-charming, entirely intoxicating smile; that 'Don't hate me, I'm so young and innocent' smile. He said, "Now then, Schwarz will eagerly do this hit for me, I have no doubt about that. With or without you, they will go into the fray. Do you really want to back out now, Weiß, and leave everything in the hands of Betrüger and Schwarz?"

Aya and Yoji both knew _that_ was a deadly combination, indeed! Of course they didn't want to be responsible for fighting both the Deceivers and the Black ones from world domination if they could oversee, and end, it all here and now. Their hands were tied. Either they continued to play along with his game now, or they would face even greater consequences later. It was a raw deal, but they had no choice left.

Aya said, "You leave very little room for negotiations."

"Then you'll do it? The White Hunters of the Dark will kill my father?"

"Yes."

Akira clapped his hands together, an exclamation of his satisfaction and relief. "Oh, how wonderful!" he said, happily smiling. "I must admit, I long to see Schwarz and Weiß working together on a mission. I know you all have your own little ways of working a hit, so I'll leave you to that. However, I have set the stage for you."

It was Crawford who voiced their concern. "What was that?"

"The ransom demand." All eyes in the room turned to Aya. "That's why you called in a ransom demand after all that time, once you spoke with Crawford and I. You were setting us all up for your game."

Akira smiled even wider, impressed. He tilted his head to Aya, who realized that was all the compliment he would ever receive from the teenager. "I knew I liked you for a reason, Aya-kun. All of you manage to intrigue me very much, and I hope I've managed to do the same to do."

"Is that so?" interjected Crawford. "You were merely playing us the entire time. I must admit, even with my powers of foretelling, I didn't think that far ahead."

"It's okay," said Akira. "I've been planning this one moment for years. It took a little altering over these last couple of days, but now, thankfully, I get to see it all fall into place."

"So what's your plan?" asked Yoji, his voice still thick with anger and frustration. He didn't want to do it.

"I'm suppose to call my father tonight, as the kidnapper, of course," said the boy, laying out his scheme, "and see if he has the money prepared. He will, naturally. For fear of bad publicity, he'll do whatever necessary to get this over and done with - without involving police, who make records, or chance of media intervention.

"I will then tell him to take the money, alone, to Tokyo Tower. We'll arrange the time for tomorrow morning, during the business rush, since you were in such an all-fired up hurry to know what purpose the demand held. But don't worry, I'm not asking you all to climb the Tower to do the hit. He'll be instructed to leave the briefcase on one of the benches outside. You'll each prepare yourselves accordingly."

"So, you're setting your father up," said Crawford. "This isn't a demand for a money drop off, but just a ploy to get him in the perfect spot for a hit."

Akira shrugged, as if to imply, "That's about the size of it." Aloud, he continued, "I don't care who kills him or how. That's between you boys to figure out. But you will also monitor him, follow him, and pick up the money. He owes me anyway, and how nice of him to fund my current project!

"Tokyo Tower is surrounded by various shops and buildings for you to set yourselves up from a distance, and with so many visitors and school trips to the tower, there will be enough people around for mass chaos. You can make a perfect get-away. I think I've set things up quite well for you.

"When police activity dies, you will bring the money, and join me. And then, gentlemen, the real excitement can begin!"

"How extraordinary," mused Crawford, staring at the teenager intently. "The perfect hit."

He beamed in return. "So, gentlemen, I will leave you to prepare yourselves for tomorrow's job. Please, feel free to come and go now as you wish. As Betrüger." The four men tried hard not to flinch from that invitation, not wishing to see themselves as anything but what they already were. "Heinke-chan has a car outside and is waiting to drive you back home. Please accept her gracious offer. I'll contact you later on tonight to hear your plans for the hit."

Siem and Nardus began herding them out the door, this time with guns lowered since they were expected to be allies now. Before they left, Akira Yori said to Weiß, smiling, "White Hunters, end the tomorrow of the Dark Beast." To kill his own father, _his_ mission had been passed.


	14. Vierzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Vierzehn (Fourteen)

Neither Weiß, nor Schwarz, said a word as they left Betrüger headquarters. They didn't appear to, but as soon as they left the empty building, both Aya and Crawford began to take in their surroundings, calculating and mapping it out in their minds. Both men were not surprised to find they were outside city limits. In fact, to the north, they were facing miles of deserted roads and overgrown shrubs, as much a wasteland as Tokyo would know. Nothing much out here to attract suspicions. They also knew this was only a temporary base. Betrüger would no doubt move their main facility into the very heart of the city as soon as Kritiker fell.

As Akira had said, Heinke waiting for them. And they knew better than to refuse her "offer" of returning them to the inner city. Crawford wondered, upon reflection, if she knew how Siem had known where to find the Schwarz heads. Schuldig would now need to find a new place seeing as how his was found out so easily. He also knew he'd hear hell for it when they were alone next.

The drive back was muted, and Heinke seemed in a strange mood. Not at all the refined secretary-turned-assassin, but pale and jittery. Yoji made a revealing gesture to Aya in the backseat of the sedan; he put one index finger to press a single nostril and expanded his lungs. Aya nodded. A junkie. That's how she explained away her life. Siem was an embittered employee, shunned and ignored. His brother, Akira mentioned, had already seen the inside of a prison. And that left Akira. A boy who grew up on hatred. A sad lot, Aya reflected, but now not worthy of his sympathy.

Farfarello sat silent and obedient, sandwiched in between Aya and Yoji in the back seat, his hands clasped on his lap, legs still; but then, as usual, his legs were partly restrained by a leather strap at his calves. No one said a word. But once, Aya saw Crawford give Farfarello a hint from the passenger's seat up front. He seemed to remove his glasses for a moment in thought, and as he was lifting them back onto his face, he brushed his unruly black bangs back. And quickly tapped his ear.

Everyone had been suspicious of it, but now they knew for certain; Heinke was bugged and had a comlink in her ear. So much for working on their trust, or immediate lack thereof. Soon they were driving through so many lit streets, the afternoon dragging on towards dusk. And without much of a warning, the car pulled off the main road, took a side street in twine, and finally pulled up alongside a small café. She didn't even throw the gear into park, but waited for them to get out. Yoji did instantly, not wanting to spend another second alongside Farfarello, who only set into motion when Crawford gave him the signal. The two leaders remained, momentarily.

Crawford said to Heinke, "When will he make contact again?"

She seemed in total oblivion, her expression masked by a far-off look. She blinked once, and they knew she was receiving Akira's own reply via the link. She said, her voice now husky and grating, "Midnight."

He nodded, and jacked open the car door. As Aya was slipping out, he said to her, "Don't remain so loyal that you don't see when you're being used." Crawford hesitated, intrigued that Weiß would show such compassion at this point.

She, too, hesitated, and for a time Aya thought his words were said to nothing but open space, a dead zone between her and reality. But finally, heaving an unsure breath, she laid a hand to her coat to cover her bug from whatever she was about to say, and responded in earnest, "Do either of you know your own men? Who they really trust in times of crisis?"

She turned to Crawford and asked, "Have they seen you cry?" He only glared back, an obvious answer: _Of course not!_ "Aya? Does Weiß really know who Ran Fujimiya is? How he suffered?" His eyes narrowed, but, somewhere inside his mind, he wondered.

"I've seen his tears," she said openly. "Since he was little. And I know what hurts him. You could never understand our loyalty." She removed her hand; she would say no more. As they left her, letting the black sedan drive off, they knew, individually, that she was wrong. Weiß and Schwarz, both groups and its members could understand suffering. That's why they were dead set against Akira's Betrüger, a group set to unleash more suffering into the world.

Outside, Crawford motioned to his man, and both began wordlessly down the sidewalk. Yoji was about to set off in the other direction, waiting for a chance to bound across the busy street, but Aya quickly went after the other group, a sharp command of, "Wait!" Yoji's jaw fell with a curious sound, but he followed.

Crawford turned, a heavy glare darkening the sun bathing his face. He removed his glasses in annoyance. He merely inquired, "Yes?" Farfarello stopped at his side, passers-by shying away from the pale, bandaged man. He paid them no mind.

Aya approached them dismally, but in a casual air. Yoji looked thoroughly unhappy. The redhead said, "Whatever bad terms we remain on has nothing to do with this mission. If we're to work together -"

"Work together?" Crawford and Yoji scoffed simultaneously, then indignantly looked at the other.

"Indeed," said Aya in that grave, frustrated tone he always managed to get. "If we tried to do this separately, Schwarz would be in our way." Crawford harrumphed. "It would only lead to ruins. To get through this quickly and smoothly, we should prepare together."

Crawford stared into his eyes for a time. He was searching Aya's face for reasoning and saw that he only spoke the truth. Finally, putting on his glasses once more, he heaved an incredibly burdened sigh, and said, "Let's talk then."

He motioned for Aya to follow him aside, and when Yoji moved to follow, Farfarello blocked his way. The Schwarz with the Irish lineage said stridently, "Only them." To him, Crawford's order was clear as day.

Yoji grimaced at that, looking Freak Boy up and down in a vile, grave way. He didn't feel much like starting a fight in the middle of the late day sidewalk, outside a café full of patrons. But he still remembered that night at the warehouse, when their battle was interrupted with fire and deceit. So, he merely smirked and inquired, "How's the hand?"

Farfarello, oddly, smiled.

* * *

Ken sat quietly with Nagi at their tiny, fold-out table. He had quickly thrown together a small meal for them, but it seemed neither of them was very hungry. Ken swallowed two mouthfuls before setting his plate aside, his mind with his fellow Weiß members. From time to time he would look over to the boy-Schwarz, who was tiredly poking at the odds and ends of his dish. Again, the expression on his long face was distant. He was still battling with himself, deep in his young conscious. What, exactly, Ken could only assume.

Suddenly, the door flung open, familiar voices booming into the trailer, and Nagi jumped. Ken turned in his seat, and asked, "What happened? What's going on?" He stood as Aya and Yoji entered their home. They looked entirely worn out. "I didn't hear a car?"

"It's a lovely day for a walk, did you know that?" Yoji said, a little too forcefully. Ken knew right away he was being sarcastic.

"But what happened?" Siberian questioned again. "You're both still alive, so that's a good sign."

"Please," Yoji whined. "We're in a heap of trouble! I still think this is a bad idea, Aya! We were allowed to simply walk away, so _why_ don't we go target them in their own building tonight?"

"I dunno," said Ken with a dumb shrug, "but that sounds like the way of Weiß. Just contact Manx for the mission and -"

"We cannot ask Manx," Aya said sharply; Ken made a small _huh?_ sound in surprise. "We agreed to carry out his request before we hit Betrüger."

"We?" Ken's face was in total confusion now. Behind him, Nagi seemed to understand it all, in a vague relief. Then the third Weiß member's face illuminated, and he said, somewhat in a dire voice, "We're working with Schwarz, aren't we?" Aya and Yoji made no reply, and they didn't have to. Ken flexed his hands uncomfortably, and stammered, "Guys... About before, I didn't mean to -"

Nagi was watching him intently, the look in his eyes was apologetic. But before Ken could finish with his explanation and own apology, hewas cut off by Aya, who said, "We're to kill Takeshi Yori tomorrow morning. We'll need plans for the buildings surrounding Tokyo Tower. Without Omi, you're the best one with the Internet, Ken. Can you do that?"

Pursing his lips in a sad grimace, Ken replied surely, "Yeah. But, Takeshi Yori is a key man for Kritiker. What about Manx?"

"She's not to be hurt," Yoji sharply said, his tone no longer sarcastic, but deadly. "He promised. I will make certain he keeps his word." By the look in his eyes, everyone in the trailer knew he meant it. The player was still Weiß, and his values and word were sincere. Aya nodded to him.

Turning to Ken, the regal voice said, "I'll explain how we've agreed to set ourselves up."

"What about Nagi?" asked Ken. The boy lifted his head, but still couldn't manage to look at the tall redhead. "We're not taking him, are we?"

Nagi tensed, eyes flicking to Ken in panic. He wouldn't tell them, would he? If they knew, what would they do to a helpless Schwarz?

Looking at the boy in a funny manner, Yoji said, "He's our prisoner. Ah, sort of." He shrugged, tilting his head in a silly way, thinking how ridiculous the phrase sounded at present, the child sitting there with dinner. "We can't just give him free reign, especially with Schwarz around."

Ken let out the breath he'd been holding, saying in relief, "Good." Nagi seemed to distance himself from their conversation, a shadow on the wall, his own relief well hidden.

Aya's eyes were hard on Siberian, gaze seeping in to try and discern his feelings. It was blatantly obvious. He was starting to care for the little Schwarz. And that just was not in their best interest. He would have to have a talk with him, but later on. Now they had work to do.

Yoji sat down in Ken's vacant seat while the other two headed for the nursery, where they kept their computers out of sight. Their plan was laid, but needed to be pinpointed. To be ready, they needed all the information they could get. Yoji sighed, moving Ken's plate further aside with a grossed out look. Nagi seemed impatient, eyes fixed on the place where Ken disappeared. Then, as if he remembered the other was there, he lowered his eyes to the table, falling deadly silently.

Yoji smiled, though it fell on the boy's dark head, so far lowered to hide his face. He stuck a cigarette between his lips, and while he was fishing out his lighter, Yoji thought back to all those times he had fought with Schwarz. This one stood out plainly in his memories, for one emotional reason. This boy…

Snapping open the lighter, Yoji asked in a conversational way, not quite certain how to handle the situation, left alone with the boy-Schwarz, "I'm sorry about your little friend." He wondered what the eyes betrayed on that youthful face; he couldn't tell. "I thought you were killed, too, back then."

He heard a soft, hesitant word drift from the boy's lips. A word Yoji thought perhaps was a name, but then he never really remembered names too well. It was spoken as if from a distant memory, though still lovingly. "Tot," Nagi said. There was no sadness there, but Yoji sensed some regret.

"That little girl?" Yoji asked, the tiny flame of his lighter dancing before his long face, lighting his green almond-shaped eyes.

Nagi was all at once uncomfortable and questioning.

Yoji instantly picked up on his confused tone, and replied, "This might sound bad, but I saw you both together, when Weiß targeted her group." He lit the cigarette with a puff of smoke, and added thickly, trying to mask his feelings, "Don't expect an apology for that, kid."

_Apologize? Schwarz was there, as well. Three assassin groups in one place. That automatically spells trouble. And he knew that, too. That's why he tried to save her. And why I was so damn touched._ Yoji shook his head as if to dismiss his thoughts and cleared his throat loudly. _I had to start down this road, eh? Shit!_

Yoji watched as Nagi raised a hand slowly, the tips of his fingers touching his lips, reminiscing. _About that kiss. God, why do I just wanna go, 'Aww' and baby him? It's like watching school kids play house!_

Suddenly Nagi destroyed his sweet sympathy by saying, "She didn't die."

Yoji blinked, thinking to himself that perhaps that was good to hear. He had felt so bad for the two, their lost young love, but then: "If she's alive, why didn't you go to her?"

Nagi raised his head, just a tad, and said heavily, "Schwarz. I had to return to them."

"But didn't you promise -" He stopped his tongue; it sounded too bad to repeat their tender moment in such a flippant way. He felt like such a peeping-tom!

The boy's shoulders jumped, as if he had sniffed in regards to that. He said softly, "To live together? She wanted that."

Yoji asked, in both confusion and melancholy, "You didn't?"

"I had Schwarz. I had that responsibility I gave my life to."

"But she would have been happy if you gave your life to her instead. And you wouldn't be in this position now."

"My position is with Schwarz. Just as she couldn't leave Schreient, I could not leave Schwarz." Nagi Naoe met Yoji's eyes, but only for a second. Long enough to say, "She is free of Schreient. I could not ask her to be with me, still a killer." Yet his tone now held no regret. The boy appeared as if he never lived for a memory. Whatever they had, or might have had, was enough for him in memory.

Yoji felt a mournful smile tug at the corners of his lips. The boy-Schwarz had knowledge and understanding which seemed to go beyond his years. Perhaps that's why he felt so attracted to the girl of Schreient, so opposite from him. She was so damn innocent and naïve, he recalled. One could tell that instantly, without having to speak with her. But then, all of Schreient lived for one big pipe dream. He said, "So you let her go to protect her. It sounds like love, to me. But then, you're too young yet to know what that is."

"You don't know what love is," responded Nagi, and Yoji wondered if he were making fun of him, or even insulting him. Or neither?

He smirked. "Maybe," he said earnestly. There wasn't much else he could reply with. "But I've felt glimpses of it."

Upon reflection, he had to agree. He couldn't fully experience love like that because he, too, was obligated. To remain with Weiß, he could never get too close to anyone. He took a long drag on the cigarette, pondering. Longing. Perhaps the boy was correct. Schreient was gone, and whoever was left would indeed be free of the horrible duties. Schwarz and Weiß remained intact. They had missions to fulfill yet. He gazed at the boy across the table, and thought they were alike, in some tiny, faint way.

Suddenly, the sound of Ken clearing his throat broke his thoughts, and both at the table turned to him curiously. "Umm, sorry," said Siberian, "but we need to make contact with Schwarz." He strode over to where Nagi sat and knelt down to gaze up into his eyes. He seemed slightly different, more serious; now he knew they had a job to do. He asked, "Will you help us?"

Nagi gazed back into Ken's blue-green depths, contemplating and weighing the positives and negatives of such a request. But he knew Ken would never do anything to hurt the situation; there was too much at stake. Yoji leaned in to hear his reply, and Nagi, wondering how much trust he could put in Weiß, nodded. "Yes."

"Good!" Ken said, smiling, and Yoji continued to peer at the boy.

In some faint way, they were similar. They both had people they wanted to protect. Back then. And even now. _I have to warn her. Before it's too late._

_

* * *

_

Omi sat on the floor in Schuldig's living room, his back braced against the sofa, hands still shackled. Above him on the furniture sat Crawford, patiently waiting and keeping an eye on Omi. Farfarello stood at the patio glass doors silently, his amber eye seemingly the only thing being reflected back to him; his blade was in his grip. It was late evening now, and both had returned only a few hours ago. Omi wasn't quite certain what was happening.

Schuldig had told him everything, and for the remaining time they were alone together, Omi was lost to complete shock. _Akira-san?_ That "poor kidnapped" boy had done all this. It seemed impossible, except that it was the truth. He believed Schuldig; the German had no reason to lie at this point. It hurt Omi at first, made him feel slightly foolish. But then it turned to anger. He felt mad and insulted that the boy would do something like that, for his own petty reasons. Omi knew what it was like to be kidnapped, all too well; he knew the fear and pain of being a child abandoned and helpless. For Shouta and Teppei, all those children he let die during that long-ago mission, Omi could never forgive him. He was seriously set now to helping them defeat the new threat.

_Them?_ As much as he hated to admit it, how much it sounded strange and wrong, to help Weiß, he would have to help Schwarz. For some reason, it didn't bother him so much now. He turned to peruse the room with his eyes, feeling the weighted atmosphere.

Schuldig was working at his desk, typing without rhythm on his computer's keypad, and sighing in frustration ever few seconds. Crawford simply waited, watching Omi, whose eyes suddenly caught on what Farfarello was doing. The pale Schwarz had his knife loose, and was busily attacking his own hand, sinking the blade's tip into the wound he had previously received from Siem. His single gaze was thoughtfully focused on his odd task. Then, he noticed Omi watching him, little nose wrinkled in horror, and Farfarello grinned in amusement. Slowly, he pulled the tip out of his flesh, the blood oozing up with it, and then he moved to stand above Omi, who couldn't help but to shrink in on himself.

Stooping down, Farfarello said nicely, "It doesn't hurt me. Only God." Omi tensed when he raised the blade so that the Weiß member could see the blood staining the mirror edge of it. "I can teach you how to do it, too." He inched the knife closer, and Omi made a small, strangled sound.

Suddenly Crawford interjected, "Stop teasing the boy."

Farfarello spread his lips in a smile, making his characteristic _hmm_ sound and standing, his hand coming out to catch his bloodied fingers in Omi's dark honey locks, shaking the boy's head so harshly he thought his skull would snap at the base of his fragile spine. But when he finally stopped seeing double, the hum in his ears fleeting, Omi thought for some reason that Farfarello, in his shattered mind, was merely ruffling his hair playfully. _Teasing me?_

Suddenly, the tall, radiant German spat a curse to the computer screen he'd been working on, and smacked it harshly on the side of the monitor. "Stupid piece of -!"

"Is there a problem?" Crawford inquired with his smooth voice, interrupting his train of speech. He leaned back idly into the cushions, throwing one arm over the back and crossing his legs, waiting to be answered.

"Crawford," Schuldig chimed up in a mock-sweet voice, "did you know computers hate me?" He nodded his head as if it were the absolute truth.

"Everyone hates you."

"Heh?" Schuldig grinned his cocky, slanted grin at the other man, and Omi blinked. Crawford's voice had sounded so dead-set and serious, but he knew enough about them now to understand he was kidding him. _They're friends,_ realized Omi. _They could be just like Weiß, except_ - He stopped his train of thought; why dirty the moment anymore? There was nothing he could do about their lack of morals or hatred of the world. It was just how things were.

Crawford stood of a sudden, striding over to stand beside the German seated at the computer. Schuldig smiled up at him, and it was a strange smile, haughty and teasing. "You don't hate me," he purred. "Huh, Crawford?" Omi wanted to shake his head at the playfully seductive Schwarz. Didn't he ever let up? He watched as Schuldig arched his back, leaning his head far enough so that his orange tresses hung loose, and he could stare up into Crawford's face. He traced a finger up the American's chest in a caressing way, and Omi flushed.

Crawford wore a vague smile, obviously knowing when he was being toyed with, and he leaned down to be closer to the German's face. He said, a breath away from Schuldig's lower jaw, "Not in front of company." And he smacked the back of Schuldig's chair, sending him forward, towards the screen. They were just teasing each other. But then, Omi realized, you would have to be good-humored like that to deal well with the redhead.

Schuldig laughed the satisfied, carefree laugh of his and said, "But you do like me!"

"So what exactly is the problem?" asked Crawford, brushing the previous frivolous topic aside as easily as blinking. Damn, Schwarz was smooth, Omi thought.

Heaving in a heavy lungful of air then sighing it out melodramatically, the German said, "Nagi's the one good with computers. I have no bloody idea what I'm doing. I can't break the code line on the Taro Minor filing system. I can't break in to tap the phones, or put a lock on Yori's personal ones." Schuldig glared at the computer as if it were all the machine's fault. Then he grinned. "Hey, Farfie. C'mere and help me bust this thing up a bit."

Farfarello started to move when a small voice interrupted everything. "You can't touch their systems."

Slowly, with a sinister and bemused air, the three members of Schwarz turned to the little Weiß boy seated on the floor. Oddly, Omi felt none of the previous suspicions or fear of their abuse. Instead he pulled his head up higher and waited for them to address his rather bold statement. Schuldig was grinning like some morbid, idiotic parent might at him, a different sort of smirk.

Crawford's eyes were glittering, curiously amused. "And why not?" he finally asked in his haughty baritone voice.

Omi swallowed, trying to maintain a cool demeanor, and responded, "You can't touch their systems because Kritiker would have already put up surveillance and alarms on them. If you try and break into that, they'll know. That's why Weiß won't do it, and Akira can't."

Schuldig glanced up at the head of Schwarz, who was gazing upon Omi in a forebodingly thoughtful way. Crawford caught that last comment about Akira, and titled his head, saying, "How do you know what's going on?" Suddenly, Schuldig lowered his head with a sheepish sniff, pretending to look busy; Crawford caught him turning away and arched a waiting brow.

Schuldig looked back at the American, fully understanding what his look meant, and shrugged. "What can I say? He did things to me, Crawford. Bad, bad things. You shouldn't leave me alone with him." And he smiled, not at Crawford, but past him to Omi.

Schuldig was not worried in the slightest of what the black haired Schwarz would say or think, and Omi was more worried about that smile from Schuldig. It was like they were sharing a secret. And that's exactly what Crawford thought, though it didn't concern the American in the least.

"Are we girlfriends now?" he chided darkly, his eyes showing only vague sarcasm; it was mostly disdain. Schuldig actually threw back his luxurious head and laughed. But then Crawford turned to Omi, shrugging on a "no matter" attitude and replying heavily, "We can't let Yori be able to use his phones. In case something happens, we have to keep him sealed away from all help."

"There is another way to do that," Omi dared. "But it will take some time."

"Heh?" said Schuldig, his brows lowering. "I can't do it _this_ way. Is your way easier?"

Omi began to respond, but Crawford raised a hand to silence him. The American stood there for a moment, his eyes taking in every inch of Omi. It left the little Weiß feeling a bit uncomfortable, as if the Schwarz's eyes were burning into him, seeing clear down into his naked heart and emotions laid bare. Schuldig was also watching him in an almost threatening manner, and Farfarello's sole eye was full of assumptions and a killer's patience. Finally, Crawford broke the moment.

He said, "Why are you so willing to help us?"

"Because," Omi had to find his voice now, all his fears from before rising to the surface of his thoughts, "in helping you, I can help Weiß."

Crawford smiled knowingly. "So it's not for our sake that you do this?" It didn't sound like a question, but rather the truth that Crawford felt more at ease with.

But Omi stammered, lost for any answer to give. Was it just for Weiß? Now, he was not so sure of his reasons. Schuldig's eyes on him were hard, as if he expected more from Omi.

So in reply, Omi countered, "Why did you bring me out here, if not to help?"

Schuldig said, "We're to make contact with Weiß to arrange this hit." Omi blinked. _A hit?_ This boy had them on a mission? "You will open their lines for us. We need to connect in secret, and you know their codes."

Omi nodded, feeling as if he had them in a position where they would have to let him help. He was afraid for Weiß... and also for them. "Then you need to tag and disable the target first, right?"

Crawford chuckled delicately, a deep thrumming sound low in his throat. "I believe that is correct." He lifted his gaze to Omi, and warned, "Don't think this means we will allow you to have your way while in the databases. Exercise caution, or I might find that you no longer have any use left for us."

_He'll kill me,_ Omi knew. _Without any regret._ He heard the familiar click of Farfarello's blade. He looked to Schuldig, and wondered, just briefly, if the German would feel nothing as well.

* * *

"Almost midnight," smirked Nardus, Ikeda seated next to him at the computer. "And all's well."

"Really?" said Akira from his desk where he sat idly stacking cards. However, they were tarot cards, a little more thicker cardstock and larger than a normal playing deck, and they took more practice to weigh them correctly. He was succeeding, though, used to his solitary games. "Have Schwarz and Weiß contacted each other yet?"

Siem said from his stance behind his brother's chair, watching the screen intently, "Yes. They opened conjoined lines. We've also detected they put a tag on the phones from every Taro Minor facility."

Akira arched a inquisitive brow. "How ever did they manage to break through Kritiker's lines?"

"They didn't touch them. They tapped into the surrounding phone companies and blocked all outgoing and incoming calls." Siem's thin lips were touched with the smallest smile of admiration. "And they did it on a timer. The clock will start tomorrow morning."

"How clever!"

"If Kritiker is as smart as they pretend," said Korat coldly, "then they should be able to catch that move. It's an agency technique after all."

"Ah!" breathed young Akira thoughtfully. "So it was Weiß then? Probably little Omi-kun. He is the genius hacker among them."

Nardus wasn't smiling, nor was he impressed. "Pretty good," he muttered dryly. "Though aren't you at all worried about this?"

"Worried?" asked Akira innocently. Heinke, leaning against the sill of the window behind him, rolled a glance to the boy; her nerves were calmed by his. "Why should any of us be worried? They've agreed to do the hit, and my father was quite efficient in coming up with the money. Everything is set. I'm quite eager to see the results!"

Wearing a small pout full of worry, Nardus looked up to his brother for reassurance. Siem was staring fixedly at their leader basking in all his glory. Finally, sharing a momentary glance with Nardus, he said heavily, "We will station ourselves nearest those who will do the hit. Heinke will -"

"You will do no such thing." The boy's voice was thick with authority. And a tremor of anger. Siem turned to him, and their eyes locked for an instant, the sudden heat between them causing Ikeda to break out into a sweat, and Nardus glare. Akira continued, summing up every ounce of his power behind his command, "Weiß and Schwarz will do this hit. I have no doubt about that. We do not need to keep an eye on them this time."

Siem's eyes narrowed under the silvery sheen of his hair. He said, his own voice holding a hint of a challenge, "I don't believe any of that allied forces bull." Nardus and Heinke matched stares. "They will turn on us without warning, and this is the perfect opportunity for them to let Kritiker in on our efforts."

Akira smiled, and it irked Korat. "They have no reason not to kill my father. And if Weiß backs out, Schwarz will do it easily. Remember, these are rival groups. You've seen for yourself how far both are willing to go to kill each other. I think we're not their primary opponents in the long run."

"But we are the only enemy to both of them."

"No, dear Siem-kun," laughed Akira. And suddenly he slammed his fist onto the table top, sending his cards falling to ruins and scattering to the floor; Ikeda jumped, and Siem's hands became quivering fists. Akira picked up one of the fallen tarot cards, looked at it, and bared his teeth in a smile. "No," he said again. "There is another enemy to both of them."

He turned the tarot around for Siem to see the illustrated face of it. Upon it's glossy surface, it said _The Fool_. Akira said surely, "There is Kritiker."

The teenage mastermind stood then, carelessly tossing the card onto the floor, where it could join the others where they lay. He left the room, a slight air of annoyance about him at the fact that one of his own had tried to override his authority. He said in a clipped voice, "We will leave them be, and I will assure them that when I call. Gentlemen."

He was out of the office then, and Heinke and Ikeda soon followed him to the lower level where the mainframe computers sat. Nardus turned to his brother with a concerned look. It was clear from the uncertain glimmer in his eyes, the purse of his lips, that he didn't like the fact they were not allowed to continue their watch on the groups. "Niisan?"

Slowly, as if he hadn't heard his brother's worries, Siem knelt to the floor and, at random, took up one of the tarot cards, it's plain back to his view. Standing, he turned to Nardus and displayed the card where only his younger brother could see its surface. Nardus gazed at it, then looked at his brother.

Siem's eyes sparkled wickedly. He whispered, "Death."

Nardus' fangs flashed in a smile. "Right," he affirmed, eyes caught on the black robed, skeletal figure drawn on the card's smooth surface, "niisan." Siem returned his smile.


	15. Fünfzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Fünfzehn (Fifteen)

Dawn. The early autumn hours were frigid, a light, frosty mist hanging low in the air around the shops and suppliers which stood in the shadows of the Tokyo Tower. The sky above was overcast, the chill a promise of the winter approaching. Slowly, people began to file into the square, dressed against the cold and seeking shelter from the brisk winds that began pacing the way. Pedestrians, tourists, cars, all of them went noticed, but disregarded. White and Black; everything had been dutifully prepared and arranged. Each member had their place and appointed task to carry out, situated one Weiß to a Schwarz; though it wasn't said aloud, the reason being so that they could each keep an eye on the other.

Akira Yori had promised them full leave, and his cooperation was Betrüger would not interfere with the mission. He knew, when they were about a job, they had everything under control. He would merely pass the mission and await word of its success. Like Manx of Kritiker would. Or so he said. It was all set, and the curtain was about to rise on the boy's morbid drama.

"Damn, it's cold!" complained Schuldig, a little too loudly for Ken's liking. The Weiß member flinched slightly, glancing down at the folks below and wondering if the exuberant German could be heard even from this height.

They were stationed atop one of the residential apartment buildings nearby Tokyo Tower, the best rooftop available for positioning their sniper rifle because of its flat plane and supportive rail. Not to mention the "kick-ass angle", as Schuldig put it, for taking out the target with one, clean shot. They weren't at the very top, that would be too high, so they had to settle for the second best spot on the landing outside the fire escapes. They were low under the windows, but a cautious jump away from the escape ladders, perfect for their getaway. They could either go up or down, whichever proved safest. Schuldig and Ken had been positioned there early on, before the sun had started to rise. As to avoid being seen by the rousing tenants, they stationed their equipment while everyone slept.

Schuldig spent the extra hours smoking like the stack on a train, while Ken sat with his back against the stone rise in an uncomfortable silence. Schuldig stared at him often, wearing a tiny smirk. Ken wasn't quite certain why, but he suspected it was due to his bad judgment call in the park the morning past. Was he looking to start a fight? If so, Ken was completely prepared, sporting both bagh nakhs. Should it come to that, he just had to make certain to keep Schuldig away from the rifle.

He looked to the other, where Schuldig was swiftly, quietly, assembling the sniper rifle, snapping out the scope and opening the support legs. He used the rail of the rise above Ken's head to hold the gun, at perfect height to fire. He checked the cartridge for the breech mechanism. He braced it, ready. Ken watched him, in vague awe at how precise and business-like the Schwarz worked. He was skilled at what he did; they both were highly trained killers, and as close to equals as any would come. It seemed a frightening scenario.

Taking the cigarette from his mouth, Schuldig flicked it away, letting it hurl down to the ground a good fifteen feet below them, and propped his right leg up next to the rifle, leaning into his knee in a flashy, flexed pose. He wore black leather pants with high boots, polished, both of which creaked dully against his muscles when he moved. His long trench hung rippling in the air and even in the heavy light of the clouded morning, his orange locks seemed loud, just like him. Ken shook his head, but now, as the day began to fully awaken, the Weiß member had gotten use to the sultry Schwarz. Sort of.

"How can you move in those pants?" Ken said roughly from his seat beside the German, eyeing the Schwarz in a slightly irked way. Had to talk about something, right?

Schuldig turned to him, his eyes showing a minor surprise at actually having been addressed by the Weiß, but then the typical Cheshire Cat smile parted his lips, crookedly. With a graceful slowness, Schuldig leaned down from his core towards Ken, creaking delicately all the way, leaving his leg stanced out, knees bent just so. Not so close as to make him uncomfortable, but Ken still felt the warmth radiate from the haughty German.

Schuldig replied, his pinched voice dropped to an oozing sweetness, "Easy." And he gave him a little wink.

Ken replied with an odd, awkward grin, nodding his head a bit as if to say in an uneasy mock, "Okay! Yes, you can! Thanks for sharing!" Then he tore his eyes away, hoping the Schwarz would take the hint to put himself back where he was - at a distance. Schuldig laughed, but did as Ken hoped, hands on his hips as he watched the waking world below. His eyes rose to Tokyo Tower then, and he cocked his head at it.

"I hate that Tower," he said. There was no trace of that harsh emotion in his voice, though. Indeed, his eyes were glittering.

"Why?" Ken asked casually, rising off the cold stone to his feet, trying to be as slick as the Schwarz member. "Bullies threaten to pitch you off the top when you were little?"

Schuldig made a deep sputtering sound at that, as much to say, "Like anyone could scare me!" as to show his disdain at having been made fun of. But he said, this time with a tactful ease, eyeing Ken in an all-knowing manner, "Because Nagi hates it, since his bad childhood."

Whether it was true or not wasn't the point. Nagi had mentioned once about his dislike of the public showcase, but naturally wouldn't share any more than that. What Schuldig was hoping for, however, was to make the Weiß member think about him. In an effort to find out something, Schuldig opened his mind to the other's outside thoughts.

And it worked, because Ken tensed at the mention of the boy-Schwarz's name. He hadn't liked the idea of leaving Nagi Naoe alone at the van for the first time, but he knew they needed him there, to equal Schwarz. But Ken was afraid he might try to runaway again, like before, or do something worse. In his vulnerable state, who knew what Nagi might try to do to himself. That thought scared him.

Schuldig's eyes hardened, wondering what exactly had happened to his teammate, but his smile widened playfully as he watched Ken turn away, staring off into the sky worriedly. It worked. To himself, inside his own mind, Schuldig thought, _So you're starting to care for our little Nagi-kun, heh? How cute!_ And to Ken's confusion, Schuldig chuckled deeply.

_How cute…_

_

* * *

_

Aya was watching the entrance to the Tokyo Tower very fixedly from his station inside the small café across the street. Everything was open, his line of sight clear, save for the lot of people milling about. Nothing that could totally block his view or distort his attention. So far, their mission was going well. He glanced at Farfarello, who was standing by the door as if waiting for someone. Sensing the look, the Schwarz lunatic rolled his head to meet his eyes, and nodded slightly. Aya saw him touch the tip of his tongue to his pale lips, excited, and Aya was glad he was left with Farfarello so he could guard him.

Under their long, heavy wardrobe, both Weiß and Schwarz were equally matched arms-wise, Aya hiding his katana and Farfarello with his sheathed blades. They were the closest to where the drop off would take place, and the last resort at killing Takeshi Yori should the sniper bullet fail. But also, Aya knew his blade would easily take down the Schwarz should he prove to be a traitor to their agreement. Equally matched. He could only hope that the others were as well off with their paired Schwarz, too.

He took his eyes from the white-skinned Irishman and set them to his watch, pushing back the sleeve of both his ordinary jacket, and the sleeve of his long buckled trench underneath, always the Hunter. 7:40 a.m. Their watches were, of course, synchronized, and in perfect timing, Farfarello left the café, sliding through the light early morning rush, and disappearing out of his line of sight. Soon. The target would be arriving soon now. Aya stood in three minutes precisely, leaving payment for the coffee he didn't even drink and headed towards the door. He and Farfarello were completely set now. Let the show begin.

* * *

Brad Crawford glanced down at his watch. 7:45 a.m. The little Weiß boy's block on the phone lines would now be in place, and they had half an hour to finish the job. The clock was currently ticking. Crawford's brows knit together behind the frames of his glasses; he wondered how much he could trust that brat. He heaved in a concerned sigh. Yoji Kodou glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

"Something the matter?" he inquired. His voice was rough and serious, and it gave Crawford all the satisfaction in the world to know how much the other hated being seated in the same car as one of Schwarz.

"No," he replied, turning his face to watch out the Weiß's car window, drawn against the cold morning air. "I was simply thinking."

Yoji was staring at him, hard. It seemed reason enough to be worried, he thought; the Schwarz head _thinking_. He could only hope his thoughts were on their current mission. With a deep sigh of his own, Yoji fell back against the seat of his rental car, tapping his gloved finger on the steering wheel idly. Under his long coat, he was fully geared up and raring to fight. However, he knew there'd be no fighting to do. One sole shot, and their target was dead. He and Crawford were merely there to snatch up the ransom, and provide a getaway car if need be. Not quite the action he'd been hoping for.

Scanning the people now filling the area around them, Yoji began to chew his lip. Soon now. He gave the comlink in his ear a delicate tap, making certain it was working. The hollow vibration that echoed back was proof enough. He saw Crawford put one hand to his own ear, hearing the static, too. Yoji smirked, as if he had done something pretty bad to the Schwarz. _Tch,_ he thought to himself in disappointment. _That's probably the worst thing I'll get to do to him at all. Shit._ How he hated to sit still with Schwarz beside him!

And Crawford happily knew it. He took off his glasses, polished them briefly in dark contentment, and set them back on his face. Then it hit him, flashing images, and his fingers flexed on the frame, so hard he almost snapped off the arm of his glasses; he had to close his eyes at the swift, rushing force of the vision that came upon him without warning. Putting a hand to his forehead, Crawford caught his breath at what he saw; Yoji looked at him in wonderment.

_It couldn't be! That boy had sworn to us that they wouldn't interfere. Dammit!_ Opening his eyes, Crawford remembered to breathe. His nerves were shaking, telling all his assassin instincts to set into motion. And as the remnants of the future coming closer faded from his grasp, the head of Schwarz looked out the window, to the bench where Takeshi Yori, head of Kritiker and Taro Minor, would make the drop off. Then, his eyes roamed beyond it, to the building where their sniper duo was stationed, and where he had "seen"...

"They're coming," he said hoarsely, remembering his vision. Suddenly, he opened the car door, getting out.

"_Oi_?" Yoji called, stunned.

This wasn't part of the arrangement. They were both suppose to stay inside the car until the panic broke out. Yet, he didn't know what Crawford saw regarding Schuldig and Ken...

Yoji was ready to leap out and accost the Schwarz, when suddenly he didn't have the chance. Schuldig's nasal voice said via the link, "Time to shine, boys and girls. He's here!"

* * *

Through binoculars, Ken watched the sleek black sedan pull up along the side of the road, across the way from the entrance into the lobby of Tokyo Tower. The plates matched that of Takeshi Yori. At least, on top of everything else that was happening of late, they still managed to get accurate info on their targets. Lowering the lenses, Ken blinked in satisfaction, shrugging on the role of the killer Siberian. _Perfect. He's right on time._

Schuldig gave a final tap to the comlink after having relayed the message and knelt before the sniper rifle. "Here we go," he said, closing one eye and looking through the scope lens. He gave a tiny nod of approval to indicate he could see well and the line was clear.

Ken glanced at the Schwarz. "Remember, wait until the drop off is complete and he's making his way back to the car."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Schuldig indignantly. "I know. Heh, you'd think you were the only one used to this kinda work!" With a flash of his hand, he yanked back the bolt and positioned the cartridge. Full round, ready. He slid it back in place. "Locked and loaded," he affirmed with a grin.

Ken watched the German for a moment more, then let his eyes wander back down the drop. He watched all the other people about their daily lives, the school bus, loaded with young children, pulling up for a trip to the Tower, people rushing by to work, and he felt sympathy. Sorrow. _Why does it always have to be this way?_ Soon these innocent people would bear witness to a gruesome crime.

And it was a crime, now. Kritiker, the agency who worked behind the scenes at the local police station and courthouse, was their target. They had no legit motive anymore, no one to assure them they were doing the right thing. And Ken knew it. Today was the day Weiß would become nothing better than the murderers they had always been. Looking at Schuldig, calm and excited, he realized that was the only thing that separated Weiß and Schwarz. _I hate this!_

With his heavy heart, Ken said, his voice mellow and cracked, "Try not to hit any of those school children."

"Heh? If they're in my way -"

"I'll kill you," he growled sharply, not catching the taunting note in Schuldig's voice. "Do you hear me, Schwarz? If anyone else dies today, I'll spill your blood along with theirs!"

Schuldig looked at him, eyeing him fully. When their eyes met, fathomless teal and sparkling blue, Schuldig saw the seriousness in Ken's look, the hurt floating behind those burning orbs. He smiled then, but actually said, "Don't fret, handsome. I'm a crack shot!" Turning back around, he said, despite his desire _not_ to, "Besides, they'll be inside before this."

Ken nodded, as much to reassure himself as agreeing with the other, and looked towards the base of Tokyo Tower. For a brief moment, he lifted his eyes to the dim gray sky, thankful that neither Omi nor Nagi were there, both still so young, yet. _May God forgive us._ After today, they would no longer be the Hunters for Justice.

* * *

The winds became wilder higher up the building complex, and standing directly on the edge of the very top of it, watching Ken Hidaka and Schuldig of Schwarz feet below them, Siem and Nardus stood on the roof. Low and dark, codenamed Korat laughed, close-lipped. His hazel eyes were afire as he watched the two assassins prepare themselves for the mission. It was time.

"Niisan?" Nardus turned his eyes over to his older brother, his dark hair caught in the wind, brushing across his sinister features. His lower jaw line was hidden behind the burgundy high collar of his seamed trench coat, dangle earrings flickering in the low light.

"A bit more," breathed Siem, the prominent arch in his back and his authoritative stance deepened by arms folded across his chest. "Let them try for Mr. Yori. Let us at least give them that."

Nardus titled his head. "Why be considerate now? We've only come here to kill them." He bared his fanged smile.

"Only kill who you must for now, Nardus," said Siem. "I want at least Aya and Crawford alive to face Akira's wrath. When he finds out that his beloved new comrades failed their mission..." He didn't bother to finish that bold statement.

Of course, they would only fail because he and his brother were there to make sure it went south. Whatever the boy believed, an intentional miss or just huge incompetence, he would not like it in the least if his father discovered there was a hit on him. Besides, Akira knew as well as Siem that Weiß had it out for them. This was inevitable. Things were about to get ugly in the square below. The masses would get a fantastic bloodbath!

"Akira will be pissed," smirked Nardus. "Wonder what he'll do to Weiß and Schwarz after today. I'm looking forward to that."

With another whisper-soft laugh, Siem turned from the edge, stepping away and heading for the exit, leaving his brother to mind their snipers. "As am I," he said in his hollow, quiet tone. "As am I."

Despite the gun in his holster, the younger brother flexed his right fist, which was equipped with an odd-looking sheath that extended down almost to his elbow, hidden under the folds of his coat. Strapped to his palm was the hilt, a weapon like Siberian's bagh nakh claws. Flashing his fangs, Nardus squeezed, and released the ten-inch long, serrated blade, his own single claw. He lifted it admiringly. _Time to have some fun,_ he thought devilishly.

* * *

"Hm?"

He thought he saw it, out of the corner of his eye. Not bright, and barely even noticeable. Yet to one who knew the value of catching every motion, be it real or the imaginations of an overly cautious mind, it was there. Sudden, and gone, but there. A quick glint of light, like the sun reflected off a mirror. Or a weapon. Above them on the rooftop. Ken narrowed his eyes up to the very height of the building. _Could it be?_ Was someone watching them?

He hadn't turned in time to see anyone, but the shadows moved up there strangely. It wasn't his imagination, he was positive of it. His chest constricted with worry and tension. Lips parted in a breathless, aghast way, Siberian strained to see, but his vision was blocked by the height difference and close angle. But he was sure of it; someone was up there. If they were seen, or being spied on, it was a terrible premonition of what was to come. Who knew they were there? Betrüger. Ken's eyes hardened. That had to be it. Was this another set-up? _Shit!_ This was BAD.

Suddenly, Ken dropped the binoculars and spun. He balanced himself up on the ledge of the escape, and much to Schuldig's shocked chagrin, he pushed off the edge and jumped to the ladder, grasping it easily from the short distance.

"Where the hell are you going?" snarled Schuldig.

"You don't need me," he said hurriedly, starting to move up the ladder, to the rooftop. "You're a pro, right?"

"Don't get cocky with me, kid!"

Then Ken paused long enough to glance at the Schwarz. If this was a set-up - "Be careful," he warned. Then began his assent once more, taking the rungs as swiftly as he dared.

Confused, Schuldig watched the Weiß Siberian climb the side of the building in a rush, shaking his orange locks in disbelief at the other's sudden, hectic exit. What the hell? "Dumb ass," he mumbled to the air. Weiß sure was a strange band.

Then he returned to their original appointed task. He settled himself in and gazed through the scope. Takeshi Yori was lingering in his car, and Schuldig saw him lean into the backseat for the briefcase. _Money's good._

Then, on a whim, Schuldig turned the scope to find their car waiting. Oddly, he didn't see Crawford inside with the Weiß member. Not really worried about it, just vaguely amused, Schuldig tested his line of sight. Great, a perfect shot. With one press of the trigger, he could kill Yoji Kodou and prohibit Weiß's escape. Should they decide to turn on Schwarz.

Grinning evilly, Schuldig whispered one word to the playboy Weiß inside the parked vehicle. "Bang."

* * *

Yoji heaved an enormous sigh when Takeshi Yori showed up, right on schedule. He had lost sight of Crawford amidst the bustling, growing crowds, and when he heard the German's accented voice, he thanked whatever Gods were listening. He just wanted this bloody mission over with! _Then we can go back to fighting Schwarz instead of pretending to be their buddies. As soon as we get Omi back safely, we can all breathe a sigh of relief. _

_All of us._ With that striking his thoughts, Yoji turned to scan the mass of faces outside, looking past the big yellow school bus and the jumble of strangers. He gazed at the alley between shops where Aya and that creepy Farfarello were situated, ready for a possible kill. He knew they were there, even though he couldn't see them. Aya was too good, better than he was, at playing the game. _But that means if Pappa Takeshi is here, then so is she. I told her to keep him away!_ He cursed.

Eyes full of worry, Yoji set a hand to the keys in the ignition and waited for the shot to sound. It wasn't going at all the way he'd hoped when he told her. If Ken and Schuldig missed, or their aim was off, she would be in danger. And if Farfarello couldn't be controlled by Aya… _Shit!_

And where did Crawford go?

* * *

Farfarello took a sole step, inching forward, and his hand darted to his side, where one of his God-only-knows-how-many blades were kept. Aya motioned with a gloved hand, now donned only in his white trench. The Hunter bade the Schwarz psycho to be still.

"Wait," he cautioned. Not yet. Ken had first crack at the target.

His killer's gaze hung on the black sedan parked just beyond the alley way. He could see the target inside, and he would get out any second to do the drop off. After that, the first try would be made. For some reason, Aya felt incredibly tense about this mission. He flexed his shoulders a bit under his heavy trench. Why did he suddenly have a bad feeling?

* * *

_Smart move, Hidaka,_ Ken scolded himself. _You can't see a damn thing!_

In truth, when he looked up, all he saw was the edge of slate stone and board, and sky laden with gray clouds. Hardly anything three dimensional to judge by. If someone was there waiting for him, he would only know it after the fact. Which would mean, he was as good as dead. Clutching the ladder with clawed hands, Ken gritted his teeth together and cursed. But it was too late to rethink his actions. And there was no time left. Of that much, he was certain. And so...

In one quick instant, he grabbed the ledge above his head and hurled himself up onto the roof, without knowing the layout, who was there, and with what weapon. He hit the rooftop on his feet, hard, and just as fast rolled onto his shoulder blades, tumbling over and coming to rest at an entirely different spot. But no gunfire came. He rose to a fighting stance, claws extended. Nothing so far. Still, he did not relax himself; he had to be prepared for anything.

He scanned the rooftop, but his eyes found nothing out of the ordinary. It was a dead silence atop the building, not even a single pigeon nested there. And that, in itself, was his giveaway. Someone was there, long enough to frighten any fowl away from their perch. For a moment, he turned to gaze down the length of the building, seeing Schuldig stationed at the gun and ready, looking just below the tip of his toes. Thank goodness heights didn't faze him.

"I was hoping it would be you!" came a deep, grating voice from somewhere, and nowhere all at once, like an echo on the wind.

Ken wheeled and brought one fist up, blades ready. "Who's there?" he demanded, the autumn breeze taking his voice and drifting the words apart. He braced himself.

"We haven't met," the voice came again. And this time, Ken heard it's direction. Behind him. _Shit!_

Ken spun to find a tall man, not much older than himself, standing two arms length away, too close, with hair and coat snapping in the harsh air. The young Betrüger showed a fanged grin, and growled wickedly, "Welcome Deceit!"

And Ken saw the glint, heard the lethal hiss of a blade drawn, and Betrüger was upon him, arm slashing out. Ken barely had an opportunity to see the weapon, but he brought his hands up swiftly, crossed before himself in defense. The metallic ring of blades meeting resounded shrilly, and Ken was looking at the tip of a kris blade, aimed for the middle of his throat. The fanged man made a pleased sound, showing his sharp incisors in a smile. Ken's eyes narrowed as he accepted that challenge, finding enough strength and with a heave, he hurled the blade backwards.

Betrüger caught himself on his toe and straightened. "I knew you would be good," he offered. He clawed the air before his chest with the talon. His eyes sparkled.

In a heartbeat, Ken knew he didn't like this cocky Betrüger. If they were all like this, he would definitely be glad to see them fall. Balanced, ready, Ken smirked and agreed, "We haven't met. You'll have to prove to me what you can do." He raised both bagh nakhs in the air, crossing his wrists so that the blades hung over each shoulder.

"Whatever it takes," the Deceiver hissed.

With a fierce cry, the young Betrüger again took on the battle, throwing his bladed fist out for a strike. Ken dodged the possible blow this time, but found his opponent was quick on the response, finding his balance and spinning for a kick. His boot caught Ken square in the chest, crushing one arm he'd been bringing up against him. Ken fell.

He had no time to catch himself, but once he hit the cold ground, he rolled, barely escaping the kris, the crooked edge plunging into the stone where his face had been. With his goggles twisted about his neck, Ken leaped to his feet as his enemy came upon him again. The Weiß member was overwhelmed by how aggressively the Betrüger fought, every strike hard and deadly. He was a vicious fighter, and if he'd been any less skilled, Ken would have been killed quickly. But he was highly trained himself, and his only hope now was to slow Betrüger down, wear him out so he could get a chance at him. Already breathing hard, Ken wondered if he could do that.

Ken lunged, but missed, and Betrüger brought his knee up to connect with the Weiß's collarbone. Ken felt that jerking impact, the force hurling him backwards. Keeping all sensation of pain from reaching his conscious, Ken managed to catch himself this time, only to find Betrüger over him, blade slashing. Ken parried quickly.

It was like a dance, whirling, rhythmical, two skilled killers caught in a perfect match, the ringing sound of claws against a heavy talon resounding off the rooftops around them. The only audience to this fierce battle were the soaring beams of Tokyo Tower. Suddenly, Ken rounded about, backing off a strike and turning on his feet off the incoming blade. And struck.

This time Ken's aim was successful as Betrüger had no time to move out of the way, his opponent's arm too close. The set of claws pierced through heavy cloth and skin, grazing the Betrüger along his ribcage. Weaponless left arm wrapped around his bleeding middle, Betrüger took a step away to master himself once more, but the eyes that glared up through disarrayed hair and sweat were now animalistic and trembling with rage.

"Son of a bitch!" he snarled, fangs gnashing.

Codename Siberian swallowed, and brought his claws up, feeling the cold air licking at his heated body, chilling him against his sweaty skin. He was panting, but he smiled. Breathless, Ken said, throwing the other's words back in his face "Whatever it takes."

* * *

Through the tinted lens of the scope, Schuldig watched the head of Taro Minor and the man in charge of Kritiker allow a car to pass by before moving across the street. He was such an ordinary looking business man, like the dozens upon dozens that Schwarz had slaughtered. The German would never have seen him on the street and gone, "He's my arch enemy!" He sniggered. _Go fig._

As young Akira had said, his father sat down on the pinpointed bench outside the Tower and waited. He would continue to wait for five minutes, then casually get up and leave, "forgetting" his briefcase. And once he was back at his car, going for the handle... _That's my cue._

Schuldig watched the busload of children file inside the lobby, and wondered why the hell Weiß had disappeared.

Suddenly, he thought he heard something, like a clatter, but it sounded dim and far off. With the whipping breeze, he couldn't even be sure he heard it at all. Shrugging it off, Schuldig set his sights back through the lens. Then there was a hush of static in his ear, and he heard Aya chime one word over the link. "Ready."

Yoji then replied, "Set."

Schuldig let loose one of those charismatic grins of his, and thrummed his fingers once. One more minute. He said into the comlink -

* * *

"Go."

Ken heard the German confirm the hit an instant before the talon of Betrüger's blade whooshed past his left ear; he had barely dodged that one, but the Deceiver had struck him full in the face with his plain fist, splitting Ken's lip wide open in return for his bleeding side. Taking a sloppy chance, Ken went for Betrüger again, blood thickly running down his chin. But it was too wide a swing, and Ken realized it. Too late. The talon lashed downwards, cutting through the air and plunging into Ken's shoulder.

With a pained cry, Ken staggered back, feeling the stinging jerk as Betrüger ripped the serrated blade out of his flesh. One hand rose to his wounded shoulder, the heavy gush of blood seeping clean through the leather of his bagh nakh's gauntlet. He couldn't stop his injured, worn body from buckling at the knees; Ken sunk to the ground, heaving air into a body that was suddenly wracked with pain. _Fuck!_ It was no use.

Betrüger glided closer, standing over Siberian, chest heaving, sweaty and bloodied as well. He bent at the waist, heedless to the new burst of blood it forced from his slashed skin, and grabbed a fistful of Ken's dark hair. He pulled Siberian's head all the way back, as far as humanly possible and a little more besides, exposing the whole of his throat. He set the slightly curved edge of the talon blade against Ken's jugular; he opened his eyes enough to focus his blurred vision on the member of Betrüger. If he was going to die, he wanted to be conscious and witness it in full.

Panting, Betrüger gave a satisfied smile, heaving his rasping breaths in and out hotly against Ken's face. His fingers dug into Ken's scalp. "Here it ends," he said. And Ken prepared himself for the feel of his throat being laid open with no fear, but a lifetime of regret.

"Nardus."

The fine bladed edge stopped dead, barely having peeled through one layer of skin; a droplet of crimson blood welled up against it though, staining the mirror face further. Ken lifted his eyes to his enemy, Nardus, whose focus was now on the radio link he wore. The sound of a quiet toned voice said to him, "It's time."

Their faces were inches apart, letting Ken listen in on every word. It took a moment, but Ken realized they were trying to ruin the hit. _Why? I thought Betrüger ordered this mission?_ In a heartbeat, the talon withdrew and Nardus slammed Ken's head to the ground. With no chance of defense, Ken grunted in added pain as his face slammed into the unforgiving ground, the stone scrapping his skin raw below his right eye. Aching, Ken lifted himself to hands and knees just enough to turn his face to where Nardus moved.

Nardus was standing once more on the edge, and a gun was now in his grasp. He looked at Ken a moment, and said smoothly, "Let's watch a Schwarz fall first, heh?" And he aimed the muzzle down, to the ledge below his feet.

Ken gasped. _Schuldig!_ And then the thought struck him. _The comlink!_

_

* * *

_

Schuldig watched Takeshi Yori rise off the bench and begin across the street, leaving the brown alligator skin briefcase sit unattended. The man seemed to be gazing all around him, taking in every face, and the Schwarz member knew he was hoping to catch a glimpse of the "kidnapper" going for his ransom. _Heh! What a fool!_

Then he was at his car, hand on the handle. Schuldig chimed briskly to his fellow assassins, "Now." He aimed perfectly, started to squeeze the trigger -

_"SCHULDIG!"_

The warning scream was ear-piercing and loud via the link, and the German flung a hand to clap over his offended ear and gasped. He jerked the trigger and flung backwards in alarm, still hearing the throbbing echoes of pain. His shot went wide.

And suddenly there came a slash of air, a sharp _whiz_ as if a large insect had darted past his head, and a hard _PING!_ Bits of stone exploded by his elbow, and instantly Schuldig knew the warning, the sounds, for what it was. Gunfire! Someone was shooting at him!

And then he heard Crawford's mind-voice in his head. _Get back! _

Schuldig threw himself backwards, hitting his back against the wall of the building as a hail storm of bullets slammed the area where he'd been, now hitting only dead space and the breech rifle. Crushing his body there until the onslaught ceased, Schuldig cursed aloud. Then he lifted his eyes to the rooftop.

"_Hurensohn_!"

He missed the target!

* * *

Chaos. Aya heard the sound of the sniper rifle echo an instant after he heard Ken scream the German's name through the link, but the bullet hit the hood of the black sedan instead, and Takeshi Yori jumped away, eyes showing wide and white. Then he fell to the ground protectively. And it was total chaos, the disorder of human nature that Akira, his son, had wanted.

Women screamed, children started to cry, and men began shouting words unintelligibly; all began running in every direction, some smart enough to fling themselves for cover or hit the earth. A rush of hectic people fearing for their lives. Aya cursed; Ken had failed to kill the target the easy way.

He drew out his katana in a gleaming flurry and heard the hissing click of Farfarello's blade. "Let's go," Aya ordered sternly.

They both lunged for the car, ready to strike down Yori with deadly steel. In the huddled masses screaming and wailing, no one would notice; no one would get a description to give. Quick. As long as they were in and out with a quick kill.

Both charged, blades drawn, killers moving from darkness to slaughter someone standing in the light. Then suddenly someone moved into their line of sight before the car and the target, and Aya jerked backwards a step, his violet eyes widening in shock. It was Manx! And she had a gun drawn on them!

Farfarello only hesitated a second, then with a grin, he went for her, mindless to the weapon she held firmly in her hand. Aya moved to stop him, but was too late as she pressed back on the trigger. The bullet tore through the air, slamming into the white arm that held the blade, passing clean through. Farfarello's body reacted, jerking forcefully back, but his mind registered none of it. He stood, not even bothering to nurse the fresh hole, and prepared to attack again, but this time Aya put himself in the way, arms open wide. And suddenly they all heard even more gunfire, above and past the street, from a distance. More screaming ensued; everything happened so fast.

Manx's expression showed nothing but a serious look, a heavy, grave warning reflecting in her eyes. She would die for the man that headed the agency she worked so long to help support. For him, for Persia, she would give her life. Aya knew that, but he did not wish it. As much as he hated to let the target go, he couldn't bring himself to move on her. Manx slowly shook her head, a motion that meant, "Let it go."

And forcing Farfarello to move with him, Aya could do nothing now but retreat. But for a moment, over Manx's shoulder, beyond the street and at the benches outside Tokyo Tower, Aya saw a familiar face. The man with the dark countenance seemed oblivious to the uproar, picking up a briefcase left unattended, his black hair reflected a dull silvery sheen. Then like a mere shadow, he was gone, lost among the frantic crowds. And Aya knew.

They could hear police and emergency sirens in the distance, and could do nothing about the mission now. Disappearing into the darkness and shadows from whence they came, Aya and Farfarello left, parting ways themselves. No words. They had failed.

* * *

He missed his target! Nardus rounded on Ken in a heartbeat, growling heavily, "Bastard!"

Ken took the man's boot in the gut, hitting the ground with a repetitive impact, his shoulders catching first to lessen the hit to his abused skull. But even as he fought, coughing, to find his feet, Nardus was upon him. The Betrüger member knelt atop him, half straddling him, and tore the link from Ken's ear, yanking a few strands of hair out painfully along with it. Then Ken found the blade once more hovering over him.

"It doesn't matter!" snarled Nardus. "The hit went wrong! We've achieved that much!" And he crushed the link between his fingers, letting the mangled pieces fall in Ken's face, who turned away for fear of getting microchips in his eyes. For some reason, he had to see it, see Death coming. "Now, codename Siberian, _sayonara_!"

His arm went back, blade catching the light. Ken tensed, and glared at him. But again luck was on the Weiß member's side when oddly, a gun sounded, and Ken watched, startled, as the bullet severed the talon in two. The sharp-tipped blade fell, broken, on the stone slates by Ken Hidaka's head.

"Shit!" gasped Nardus, flinging himself to his feet and hand going for his gun. But a sharp word of warning from a baritone voice halted his blade-less hand.

"Don't move," said Crawford from the doorway to the building's staircase. He leveled the aim of his gun to Nardus' head. "Unless you'd rather not see your big brother ever again." He smiled nastily.

Nardus made a horribly evil _tch!_ sound of anger and disgust deep within his throat, fangs exposed through a clenched jaw as he backed away from Ken, who quickly took the opportunity to get his feet under him once again, though he swayed somewhat. The moment was quickly lost when the sound of a helicopter came to them, and they all lifted their gazes to the air, seeing the police chopper approaching the emergency scene. Suddenly, Ken and Crawford saw Nardus leap from the side of the building, and they knew full well there was a fire escape there to the alleys. He was escaping!

"Hold it!" Ken shouted, but found he hadn't the strength to pursue.

Crawford returned the gun to his shoulder holster calmly. Adjusting his jacket, he said deeply, "Let him go, Weiß." He looked to the sky; police were coming from all directions now. "We should make our own escape." Ken glared at him, but he knew he was right.

* * *

Schuldig felt rushed, and so he released his grip on the fire escape's ladder and dropped the remaining way to the skuzzy alley below, catching himself on one knee. He actually thought, _Damn, that's gonna scuff the leather!_ Disgruntled about his poor expensive pants, Schuldig moved quickly through the winding ways, thinking he might be lost amid of the shops and homes around Tokyo Tower, and yet knowing he really wasn't. He might up and appear on a main street at any given moment. And that's what he was trying to avoid. Main streets meant police barricades.

Stealthily he continued, weaving in and out of every side street he came on. He had left the equipment behind. No real reason to tote it along. It was unregistered, and he and Weiß had worn gloves, leaving behind no evidence or proof. And besides, it had been buggered up pretty good by the gunfire. Suddenly, he saw living light, not the stale, pale light of the never-where of Tokyo, but the broad daylight of life moving on. He shrank against the nearest wall until he could survey the area.

Then, he knew he didn't need to when a familiar car pulled up alongside, and Yoji Kodou rolled down the passenger side window and said, "Hey, stranger. Need a lift?" Though the words he spoke in combination were mockingly amusing, his tone remained grave and serious, his expression somewhat lost.

Wasting not a minute more, Schuldig got in, and as soon as he slammed the door closed, Yoji shot the petal down, speeding as far from the vicinity of Tokyo Tower as possible. They stayed in silence for some time, sulking, fuming. But finally, as usual, the German voiced his frustration.

"Scheiße!" he spat out violently, letting his rage seep out with that lone curse. "That was so screwed up it was pathetic!"

"You missed the target," Yoji muttered seriously. If he had hung around long enough to know that much, Schuldig wondered how he managed to elude the police so easily.

Schuldig glared at him next, brushing tousled orange hair out of his face and implying forcefully, "_We_ missed the target! Don't be blaming this whole mangled mess on me! Wichser!"

After another lapse of dead time, the Weiß member heaved a harsh sigh. "What a bunch of screw-ups." Schwarz started to say something in defense, but Yoji instantly added, "I meant all of us."


	16. Sechzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Sechzehn (Sixteen)

Heinke leaped to her feet the moment she saw Siem and Nardus enter the sub-room of the Betrüger headquarters. Like the obedient dog he was, Ikeda followed her example, his expression somewhat confused, not quite certain how to act around any of them, still uncomfortable amongst the new group. Nardus swept right past her, ignoring her agog, angry expression, a high quality briefcase in tote. She didn't even note his hyper, excited air at what he was carrying.

"Where the hell were you two?" asked Heinke sharply, spinning a full circle to watch Nardus move off into the anteroom, then back around to face his older brother. "Akira has been calling you both here for the last half hour, but you're comlinks were off. Weiß and Schwarz will be arriving shortly."

Siem's eyes hardened when he noticed her once lovely face drenched in sweat, her hands shaking badly; she was coming off a high. Then he smirked. "I doubt it," he said, stalking by her to the stairs. Mounting them easily, not at all rushed, he repeated darkly, "I sincerely and utterly doubt it."

Heinke thrust her hands on her hips. "What do you mean by that? Siem?" She sighed when she finally realized he was heading to Akira in his office. She waved a hand from Ikeda to the room where Nardus had disappeared, and the traitor-Schwarz bobbed a nod and left, while she stormed up after Siem.

The once Kritiker agent didn't bother knocking, but instantly went into the office, hearing Heinke just about explode behind him, highly offended he would enter without an invitation or seeking permission. Siem turned when he didn't find Akira at the desk, only to find the boy draped oddly on the cushioned loveseat, one arm over his eyes, tiredly. Siem approached him carelessly, not even bothering to see if he were asleep, only to be stopped by the others' soft voice.

"Where were you?"

Siem stopped where he was. "Kritiker."

"You were suppose to keep your comlink on," said the boy-mastermind. "I do recall telling you that, if I am not mistaken."

In a dead tone of voice, Siem replied easily, "You know I can't risk that while at the agency."

He thought he saw a flash of teeth under the sleeve as Akira smiled. Siem waited for the kid to grow smarmy with him, as usual. Instead, Akira suddenly lifted himself, swinging his legs over and bouncing onto his feet, smiling in a bubbly manner. He looked like a child on Christmas morning.

"What good thinking, Siem-kun!" he said brightly, his attitude so double-sided. "Apologies for snipping at you. Now then, what delicious word from those at Kritiker, hmm?"

"What word?" Siem said, arching a brow, doing his best to look worried despite the truth he knew. "I should say several. Have you heard anything from your beloved new members?"

Akira blinked, bewildered. Inside, Siem smiled at that. " Weiß and Schwarz?" asked the boy. "Why?" The sides flipped then, and his eyes lowered, narrowing dangerously, his bright voice darkening. "What happened? Did Kritiker discover their phone tap?"

All Siem said was, "Come with me. My brother and I brought something for you."

* * *

Omi jumped when the door to the apartment opened in a whirlwind, watching as Crawford and Farfarello rushed in. He gawked when he noticed Farfarello was bleeding from a gunshot wound that both he and his leader were entirely oblivious to, and he looked around worriedly for Schuldig. The German was not with them.

"What happened?" he asked, watching the two Schwarz flow over the room, checking locks and sealing doors. _Something happened to the hit,_ Omi realized. "What's going on?"

Crawford stopped, standing over him for a moment. Then he stooped down and, surprisingly, undid the boy's shackles. "We're leaving," he said simply. "Betrüger knows this place."

Omi's mouth fell open, and his first thoughts were of Weiß. _What happened? Was everyone all right?_ He knew of a sudden, watching these two, they were all in serious danger from the new threat; if they had indeed failed, they would prove useless now to that boy of Betrüger. What would he do to them after today? And Schwarz was ready to go into hiding.

But Omi wasn't, not until he knew everyone was safe. All of them. He began fighting Crawford's grip as the American lifted him to his feet, but Crawford jerked him sharply.

"Stop," he commanded in his smooth voice; his eyes were hard. "If we don't leave now, we'll all be killed. We're going underground." Farfarello tossed him a revolver, which Crawford snatched from the air with his free hand. He thumbed the trigger to accent his orders. "And you're coming with us."

Omi swallowed, knowing Crawford was right. If they stayed where the enemy knew they could be found, they were sitting ducks. He turned, watching Farfarello as he did one last sweep across the room, making certain they were not leaving behind any incriminating evidence or hints at their whereabouts. The pale Irishman nodded once, and Crawford returned the gesture with a tip of his head.

Then he said, "Let's go." And Omi had no choice but to go with them.

* * *

Nardus slammed down the briefcase atop the table within the anteroom, only one uncovered light bulb switched on above his head. It hardly gave off enough light to fill the room inside the vacant building, but enough for him to see the case was both locked normally and with a small padlock. He checked to see if Takeshi Yori had left them the keys attached anywhere. Obviously not.

"_Tch_," whined Nardus, talking mostly to himself; he gave no hint that even knew Ikeda had entered the room behind him. "Why can't things ever be easy, heh?" Suddenly, he glanced over his shoulder at the other and showed his fangs excitedly. "Bring me somethin' heavy, and we'll smash this thing open!"

Ikeda made a face. "Is that the ransom? How did you get a hold of it?"

Nardus frowned at him, sulking. Realizing the other wasn't going to be any help, he squeezed his hand and extended his ruined weapon. Using the blunt end of what was once a useful killer's talon, he dug at the lock, not even bothered by the high-pitched grating sound of metal on metal; Ikeda winced. Then he heard footsteps behind him, and knowing his brother had left to fetch Akira, he began to turn. And saw Akira entering with a gun drawn.

Nardus flung away as Akira raised his arm smoothly and fired one round. The shattering sound echoed in the close room as the bullet cut clear through the latch of the lock, the two bits hurling in separate directions in a puff of charred smoke. It left a burned dent in the leather, small flecks of glinting silver metal embedded into the hide from the force of the gunpowder and round. Ikeda jumped clean out of his skin, bounding clear across the room from the boy with the gun. Nardus was now half-crouched on the floor, with his palms out in submission; he had thought for a moment Akira was aiming at _him_. Nardus turned to his brother, both relieved and anxious, and Siem looked at him in a sure way. Heinke followed Akira, close at his heels.

Glaring at Nardus as he strode closer, Akira moved to the now unsecured briefcase. He pulled back the locks with a dull snap sound, his expression equally as dim and hollow, and with his back to the room, laid wide open the case. And there followed a long, drawn out silence, where none of them dared to move for fear of invoking the sudden wrath and fire that seemed to waft from the teenager.

Then, as typically the case with the youthful killer, Nardus took a step closer to get a good look. He fell short of any words when his eyes rested on the ransom, a stunned sound escaping his lips; Ikeda gasped in confusion.

It was full, yes, but stuffed to the brim with newspapers. And nothing more. Akira stared into the briefcase for what seemed an eternity, until Nardus found his vocal chords amidst his shock.

"What the hell?" he started, looking from Akira's back to his brother's drawn face. Siem exchanged a heavy look, but his expression was completely different from that of his younger sibling. Codename Korat seemed content, as if all his suspicions had now been justified, like he had known what to expect.

Nardus, however, was completely off his head. "There's nothing in here!"

Long trench swirling, Nardus all but pushed Akira aside to dig his hand into the mess of printed papers, shuffling them all around until he finally gave it up, grabbing the rim of the case between harsh fingers. He hurled the entire thing against the wall, papers sailing. Ikeda looked ready to flee; Heinke moved closer to Akira, whose expression was lost under low brows and bowed head, black hair blocking his eyes. Siem, almost soundlessly, gave the barest of sniffs, disregarding the ransom as if it were unimportant.

"_What the hell!_" his brother spat again furiously. His disappointment was matched only by his anger, eyes unfocused with rage under eyebrows ferociously pinched together. His fangs were glinting in the low light, lethal and with no trace of a smile behind them. "That prick didn't pay one yen!" His hands ground into fists as he rounded on Akira, wondering, "How much did you demand?"

Akira didn't respond. Indeed, he didn't even move a muscle. So Siem answered for him, as Heinke turned a glower on the brothers. "His demand," said Korat, "was for whatever amount Takeshi Yori felt his son's return was worth."

Nardus seemed confused by that reply, but he said, much to his own discredit, "I guess you're worthless to your Papa, kid!" Siem hid his grin; Akira flinched. "You should have been a little more specific!"

And suddenly, slowly, Akira fell onto his knees, and his Deceivers saw his hands curl into fists against the cold stone floor, white knuckled and veins bulging. Everyone watched him with a different expression, watched as his shoulders began to quiver with tiny tremors. Heinke made a small sound of pity, going over to the boy and kneeling beside him. With his back still to her, she wrapped her arms around him soothingly, one hand stroking his ebony hair. Ikeda suddenly seemed uncomfortable as his new leader knelt, ruined and crying, while the brothers stood by in knowing rage, waiting.

Soon, softly, darkly, they heard him laugh, a whisper-gentle chuckle that thrummed deep from his chest. To any normal human being, the sound would have been frightening. Not with tears, but now with constrained laughter, the child-mastermind began to shake. Finally he turned to look Siem in the eyes, and while there were tears glistening against his lashes, his expression was vengeful and bloodthirsty.

He said in a voice that was not at all that of a young boy's, "Is he dead?"

"Takeshi? No."

The eyes narrowed into wet slits. "And why not? WHAT happened?"

Siem lifted his head even further, his expression sure. He said, "One of Weiß contacted Manx and told her the hit would go down. You're damn lucky I was at Kritiker to hear that news. Had I not been, the agency would have picked up the briefcase, and you're little test would have failed."

He didn't bother to tell him his brother and he hadn't know Manx was there until after the fact. Siem was truly pleased and amused to know that so many were out to ruin Akira's perfect hit, his own hitmen included.

Throwing off Heinke's arms, Akira pulled himself to his feet. "So," he breathed, his face reddened with seething rage, "Weiß decided my word was not good enough, is that it?" Then he rounded nastily on the traitor-Kritiker, snapping, "And I suppose you just let Weiß get away? Grabbed the money and ran?"

Siem's brows knit even closer together, and his eyes caught the challenge. "This is your failure, Akira," he snarled in his smooth, quiet voice. "Not mine. You wanna play games with your father, you do them at home then, like a good, little boy."

"Watch yourself, Siem," warned Heinke dangerously; no one noticed Akira's slight grin.

Nardus growled, putting himself deep into the quarrel, "I'm not going back to prison for you, Akira! What am I suppose to do now? If Kritiker knows about us thanks to your damned Weiß friends, I'm as good as fingered! I can't go back to my life! You promised us -"

Akira countered, "Ask your dear brother, Nardus. He is Kritiker's lackey, after all!" He turned to face Korat, a strange light dancing in his eyes with that challenge, which he knew the other would take up. "How many times does one turn traitor, Siem-kun, hmm?"

Suddenly, the young head of Betrüger was silenced by a weighed, open hit to the face as Siem backhanded him brutally, and the room was in a sudden uproar. Heinke was set into motion like a protective cougar, gun out; she was stopped by Nardus, blunt end of his talon drawn. Ikeda hid in the shadows in fear, while Siem stood tall, staring down at the boy who's expression was hidden behind a disarray of black locks. It seemed the room would suddenly turn on each other, until they heard Akira laugh. Child-like, satisfied, he laughed. Opening his eyes, he smiled at Siem.

"Thank you," was his odd response. He straightened then, not bothering to wipe away the blood that trickled from a torn lip or tend the ugly bruise that began to well up. Under his tangle of hair, he said, "Now I can look more the kidnapped child when I go home."

Everyone stared at him, only vaguely aware of what he was plotting. Siem started. "What do you mean, home?"

With tears still at the corners of his eyes, Akira said in a hushed tone, "I think I need to thank my father for his _kindness_ and _loving generosity_."

He locked gazes with Siem then, all trace of the challenge vanished. With authority, the tone leveled to a vacant low. His thoughts returned to the hit. "Siem-kun, take your brother and Ikeda-san and find them. Hunt them out, Weiß and Schwarz. I told them, should they fail, I would kill them." He drew in a ragged breath between clenched teeth. "Show them I am a man of my word."

Siem literally beamed. Now things began to fall into the place he had made for them. He bowed his head respectfully. Withdrawing his gun from his shoulder holster, Siem waved to the two men and the three of them left the room: angry, excited, and ready for the kill.

Akira watched them go with hard eyes, fists trembling at his sides. Then, without a word, he turned and made his way back up to his office, now in a mad rush. Heinke followed him all the way up, silently, her eyes full or worry and sadness. _He should have known,_ she thought to herself with pity. _He always suspected…_

Inside the office, Akira slammed open a closet to the side, letting the door swing wide and back, knocking against the wall with a tremendous effect; walls and windows rattled. He seemed like a sulking child, but not many pouting children could reach into a closet and pull out a fully loaded, automatic gun. He snapped out the clip, and once he was sure it was full, he chucked it to Heinke, who caught it at the last minute, eyes full of wonderment. Then, Akira stripped off his sweater, and drew out the school uniform he had left home in, the black suit with gold trim on the high color and sealed pocket line, bearing the emblem of the private school his father sent him to. Buttoning it up, he glared over to Heinke.

"My father thinks I'm completely worthless," he said heavily. "I'll show him otherwise." He swallowed, and sniffed back whatever sadness he felt. To be abandoned by his parent, and not only that, to be belittled by him, made Akira pitiful. And dangerous. "I'll show him what I can do." His eyes were suddenly different, vacant yet vivid, some sinister glint that resembled a light seen in Farfarello's eye. He smiled crookedly.

"Akira," she said softly, "You always knew he was such a man. He was never a father to you."

Disregarding her soothing words, her gentle tone, Akira quickly said, as if he hadn't even heard, "I have some unfinished business with Schwarz and Weiß, as well. Should Siem-kun fail, they will seek me out. Be ready, Heinke-chan. I want to be sure we're ready to welcome them. A special guest is in order, I believe."

"A guest?"

"I promised dear Manx would be safe, but only if they played the game right." He turned eyes that were suddenly brisk and boyish over to Heinke. "They broke the rules," he said brightly, yet in a mock-brooding voice. "There should be a penalty for that, shouldn't there?"

With blood drying against his lip, Akira moved to stare out the office window one last time before they left. He whispered to the pane of glass and the dying afternoon sun, "She'll be there protecting my father. Weiß will know I always keep my word. And never do I make empty threats."

Striding suddenly over to the phone, he yanked it up and began dialing. Arching one tawny brow, Heinke inquired, "Who are you calling?"

Akira stopped, gazing up at the ceiling tiles in thought. "Hmm, let's see," he mused. The he nodded. "Police first, I believe."

"What?"

"Then the radio station. I'll hand over some interesting bit of news."

Heinke's mouth fell open as she watched him dial and wait for the police to answer the phone, his head cocked over to her. "What are you planning, Akira?" she finally voiced, shaking her head in disbelief at how fast his young mind worked.

"Playing the game," he said smoothly. "Who would have thought a terrorist group known as Weiß would ever kidnap the son of a wealthy businessman? What is this world coming to?"

* * *

The cell phone between their elbows rang all of a sudden, an obnoxious, jingling ring. Yoji started to reach for it, one hand coming off the wheel of his car, but Schuldig was quicker on the response. Picking it up, he thumbed the 'talk' button so the little red light came on and set it to his ear.

"_Moshi moshi_!" he chimed in a mock innocent, sing-song way. "Thank you for calling the Big Pink Van Floral Service. Schu-Honey speaking, how may I help you?"

"Give me that!" Yoji squawked, flushing, as he brutally snatched the phone out of the German's hand in a vain attempt to cover the mouth piece from any further insulting remarks. "Jesus! I swear, you can be such an ass!"

Schuldig threw back his head and laughed as the Weiß member set the phone to his ear, ready to make any apologies necessary. The person on the other end spoke first, however, and Yoji tensed. "Manx!" he said, surprised. Schuldig turned a curious look to him. "What?"

All Schuldig could hear was the unusual, slightly blurred voice from the receiver. He could tell it was female, and she was talking in a rush. Yoji said, "Why do you - Okay." And he hung up.

"What was that all about?" asked the German, watching as Yoji leaned over to turn on the car's radio. There was a hum and whir as he tried to get a local station to come in, going back and forth through static while watching the road ahead; his expression was grave. "Are ya gonna tell me?"

Then Yoji found one to come through, a breaking news report, and he didn't have to answer the Schwarz after that. "Police have learned from an anonymous tip that sixteen year old Akira Yori, son of the renowned businessman Takeshi Yori, head of the Taro Minor Corporation, has been kidnapped by the terrorist group Weiß."

Yoji's jaw dropped as Schuldig taunted, "Ooooh, you guys did a _bad_ thing!"

"This can't be?" Yoji breathed in utter disbelief. "What is that kid up to?"

"There has been no recent attacks involving the group Weiß since Reiji Takatori was elected Prime Minister. No word yet on when Akira Yori was taken from his home, but sources report that it happened days ago, and there is skepticism on why the police didn't know until recently. It is also rumored that this kidnapping has something to do with the gunfire at Tokyo Tower only this morning, although no one can confirm that Takeshi Yori was in fact present at the shooting. The Police Chief had -" Yoji switched it off.

"You have to admit," said Schuldig, impressed, "the kid is good!"

"Are you always this laid-back and asinine, or is just 'cuz you're with me, eh?" snipped Yoji. Schuldig grinned that full Cheshire Cat grin that made Yoji roll his eyes. "Open the glove compartment."

Schuldig looked at it for a moment, but then leaned in and did as he was asked, saying briskly, "And what am I looking for?"

"I have a police scanner in there. They've obviously been told by Betrüger about us. Let's just see how much they gave away."

"Ahh... a map, flashlight... oooh! Pack of cigarettes!" Yoji swore at the German, half buried into the compartment, now with a cigarette caught between his lips. But finally: "Here you go!"

Sitting upright again, Schuldig tilted the little scanner in his grip, fidgeting until he found the power switch. Turning the dial, they listened to the scanner spill forth a jumble of static and gibberish. As Yoji rounded a corner, clearing a few tall buildings, the reception cleaned up.

They didn't like what they heard.

"All units, be advised we have a description of the vehicle the suspects in the Yori kidnapping and shoot out were last seen in."

_Uh-oh._ Yoji's heart fell to his feet when the model, make, and license all matched that of the rental car he was now driving. _Shit!_ Betrüger sure did a thorough job when it came to details!

"Now I'm worried," said Schuldig, though he didn't sound it in the least. He interlocked his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the headrest of the seat. "Where should we go?"

"Where do you want me to drop you off?" Yoji said, his eyes behind his shades fixed on the roads ahead, checking every corner they passed by. "I have to find the rest of Weiß."

Turning his gaze on him, the German said, "I'll go with you, then."

"Oh, like hell!" scoffed Yoji. "You're just trying to weasel your way into our group to get your kid back!"

"Heh," sniffed Schwarz. "I don't care about your little group, Weiß. And we _will_ get Nagi back." He put a cool, casual foot up on the dashboard, knee extremely bent to do so. "On the other hand, I can't go back to my place, if you must know. Betrüger will most assuredly be there waiting."

Reaching over and smacking off his boot, Yoji said, "What about the rest of Schwarz?"

"They would have already hit our underground facility by now. We're pretty good, too." He started digging in his breast pocket for a match to light his borrowed cigarette, when he noticed something in his side view mirror. "_Oi_, we've got company."

Yoji glanced at the rearview. "Oh, shit!" Flashing red lights, and soon a siren sounded. So they were finally spotted. Not good news.

"Put on your seatbelt," Yoji ordered. And he slammed his foot on the gas, as far down as it would possibly go. The engine ground for a instant, then smoothed into full speed. The police car gave chase.

Schuldig licked his lips, and if Yoji didn't know any better, he would have said the German was thrilled to be caught in a car chase. The Schwarz asked rather nonchalantly, "Do you think you'll be able to lose them?" The car vibrated over speed bumps, coming off the ground momentarily, yet Yoji maintained the wheel easily enough.

Glaring at him from the corner of his eye, visible behind the leg of his shades, Yoji said, wickedly joking, "Why? Do you wanna drive?"

"Can I?"

Looking to him, Yoji saw he was only half kidding. "You're just _dying_ to wreck my new car, aren't you?"

Schuldig smiled, close-lipped. But his response was, "Ahead of you."

Swinging his eyes forward, Yoji saw what Schuldig was motioning towards; a second cop car was speeding down the road, coming at them. Making a strangled gasp, Yoji quickly spun the wheel, keeping his grip; they both hurled sideways, feeling the car do a full, sharp tilt.

"Watch it, watch it!" warned Schuldig, hand braced against the door.

He didn't notice, but the turn took them soaring off the main road. The car practically leaped from the curb of the sidewalk as he rounded the corner at a dangerous angel, sending pedestrians fleeing out of the way, hiding in nearby shops. The curve was a bad turn, leading them into a narrow back alley. Still, the police followed suit. Schuldig gave a whistle when they sped under a low hanging shop sign, hearing the grinding scrap atop the roof. The rearview on the passenger side caught the shop's brick wall, snapping off in sparks.

"Woo!" the German laughed. "Not bad, Weiß!"

"You think this is funny?" Yoji yelped above the roar of the engine and screech of the tires. As the car sailed out of the alley, tires coming to a slamming rest against the blacktop outside on a _real_ street, he gave the wheel another hard spin to align the vehicle, only afterwards noticing what the Schwarz member was doing.

Schuldig drew out a gun from a shoulder holster, and removed the safety. "No, it's not funny," he replied then, still wearing his full, slanted grin. His eyes glittered. "This is serious, and requires drastic measures." He unbuckled his seatbelt and brought his window down all the way.

"What are you doing?" Yoji gasped at him. The mass of carrot colored hair was wildly tossed by whipping wind as Schuldig leaned out the window, heedless to the frantic chase and massive speed. "Don't kill anyone, Schwarz!"

The German gave him a dark look, but said nothing as he practically hung out the window. The sirens wailing behind them were loud and piercing, the rush of wind, the churn of the engines, and whooshing sweep of rubber on roads - a blur of sheer noise that seemed altogether to throw them into a hopeless situation. Yoji didn't know what would happen if Schuldig shot a police officer only to have them wind up getting caught anyway. Terrorist, kidnapping cop-killers. _Just great!_

But what Schuldig had in mind was not necessarily a murder, but a fantastic show! One eye closed to focus the other through his rush of hair, Schuldig fired first one shot, which hit the upper left hand corner of the nearest windshield of the cop cruiser. It cracked dramatically, but remained intact. _Now you can't see. One._

He lowered his aim, allowed the car to speed closer, and fired again. The bullet tore like a bolt of lightning and found its mark into the front tire. _Two._ The rubber around the wheel exploded off, flying away; sparks seared from the grating metal. And the policeman lost control. The car angled, veered off the main road and flew up onto the sidewalk, slamming the bumper into a parked car and crashing into the wall of a building. The cruiser's lights smashed clean off on impact. _Heh, three._

Suddenly, Yoji flung the car off the ramp and onto an exit, and, fearing the turn would send the German sailing out of the car, he leaned half across the seat and grabbed him roughly by the coattails, hauling him back inside. Schuldig smacked his hand away almost immediately, given offense, growling, "What the hell? Are ya tryin' to cop a feel? Get your damn hands off me!"

"You're welcome!" Yoji responded with vile sarcasm.

"Well," panted the German, "one down, but it ain't doing us any good, and they don't seem like they'll give up their precious kidnappers anytime soon. Do you have a plan?"

"Eh."

"That sounds encouraging."

Schuldig eyed the highway ahead. The roadways were slowly rising, and soon a guardrail became visible; it was a protective measure to keep cars on the road as it curved suddenly, and rather dangerously to those driving too fast. Treetops began whipping by, the major drop below hidden by weeds trailing over the rail and brush. A new pair of sirens joined the pursuit. It wasn't looking good.

"What should we do?" Schuldig asked, checking the rounds in his gun.

Yoji swallowed hard, his mind reeling. "Driver side air bags," he mused thoughtfully. "I'm not sure about the passenger side."

"Heh? What are you thinking?"

Yoji looked at him, and he wore the vaguest of smiles, crooked to match the German's own. He said, "Should we give them a grand finale?"

Schuldig's eyes narrowed wickedly. But then the same idea dawned on him. _Cat and mouse chase, ending in playing possum, huh?_ That is, if they survived long enough to play possum. He fastened his safety belt again over his chest and drew in a long breath. They exchanged looks once more, and the Schwarz member nodded to the Weiß to imply he understood. It was settled, and neither seemed very afraid of their chances. Even if they died now, it was better, given what they were, then to be caught.

To himself, glancing at the member of Schwarz in a reminiscent way, Weiß thought to himself, _Isn't this ironic?_ Aloud, Yoji said, "Ready?"

Schuldig raised his hands to lower his burnt orange-tinted shades over his eyes, matching Yoji's dark mask, and replied with his huge grin, "Crash it, baby!"

Then, with a sharp turn of the wheel, the car guided off the main road, taking out the guardrail in a ramming speed and hurling over the embankment. It stayed upright, speeding all the way down at gathered velocity. The cop cruisers could do nothing but swing to matching, screeching halts, the officers getting out to watch the wreck. No one could see if the car ever back-flipped, spun, or even when it hit the bottom; they could only tell when it finally stopped by the dying silence that ensued. Emergency squads, fire trucks, ambulances, and other rescue vehicles were instantly radioed in.

And, less than five minutes after the chase ended, the vehicle at the bottom exploded into a fiery blaze, illuminating everything in a momentous burst of heat and light, setting the brush and trees all around ablaze. Other cars stopped so the drivers could watch the fire and emergency workers, not quite sure what had just occurred. Or if anyone had gotten hurt. They were enthralled with the mesmerizing display of mayhem nonetheless.


	17. Siebzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Siebzehn (Seventeen)

Painfully, Ken staggered into the trailer, bloody and tired, leaning onto the door frame for support. He was breathless and he was hurting, but he had to keep pushing himself until he was inside. Still, even inside the comforts of home, he couldn't rest yet. The light outside was hanging low, and each day was darkening earlier as the days shortened, and he knew once night settled, Betrüger would be unleashed. Hell had poured forth after the hit failed that morning, and Ken had had a hard time eluding the police once he and Crawford split ways. And he couldn't find the others. Hell was about to get worse. He knew he had to get the trailer away.

But Aya and Yoji weren't there. Had they been caught? Ken wondered how many Betrüger there were so far. He had only fought one, and knew from the comlink, there was another on the scene. Were there more? And could Aya and Yoji handle them? Shaking his head, Ken tried to stop his dismal thoughts, even though there was a possibility that - No! He had to keep believing they were alive. They wouldn't fail to Betrüger.

Ken lifted his head to stare into the dim, cramped quarters of the floral van, eyes focusing on the door to Omi's room. It was shut. Even through his panting and labored breaths, Ken could feel the silence in the place, the heavy stillness that was so much like a coffin. _Nagi? Is he still here?_

Throwing himself off the support of the door, Ken made his way into the van, not even remembering to close the door behind him; not that it mattered at this point. He fell against the door into Bombay's room, his weight alone throwing it open.

Inside, he found the boy-Schwarz quietly seated on the bed. He hadn't run away, and he was still all right. Ken could actually breathe a sigh of relief. But his brows drew low when he suddenly realized the boy hadn't moved when he stormed in, but remained silently sitting there, his eyes closed, completely focused. In front of him on the night stand sat the cookies Ken had left there previously, pretty stale now.

"Are you okay?" Ken asked in a hoarse, raspy whisper. He saw Nagi slightly tilt his dark head, then he vaguely lifted his eyelids, indicating he had heard. "What are you trying to do?" asked Siberian, although he already had an idea. He was trying to find the power he once had. _He still needs that feeling._ It was sad.

In reply, Nagi lifted a fist and crushed the cookie on the stand with a vibrating, swift slam of his hand. "That," he replied heavily. Ken gave a nod in understanding; at one time his thoughts could have done what his physical hand just did. It was kind of unnerving for Ken. He could have smashed a cookie just by thinking about it, and he had almost crushed Ken in the same way that night.

Then Nagi rolled his head back to gaze up at Ken, a slightly bewildered air about him. Ken knew he was waiting for him to explain himself; the hit, his wounds, why he had quickly come to check on him. Instead of giving the boy a full report, Ken said, "We have to get away from here. We're not safe if we stay in one place for too long."

"We?" came the solitary whisper. Ken made a strangled sound, not entirely understanding the meaning of the question. Nagi answered in his soft voice, "Weiß isn't here."

Ken nodded, and it hurt. He swallowed against his raw, dry throat and replied, "Oh, I know Aya and Yoji aren't here yet. But they'd tell me to move the trailer even if they were." Suddenly the gaping hole in his shoulder stung badly, and Ken lifted one clawed hand to it. "Things didn't go so well," he wheezed, trying to maintain his cheerfulness at least somewhat, sliding into the room. "Like you couldn't tell, huh?" He left a blood trail smeared across the face of the door, his claws slashing against the wood. Ken didn't even notice.

Once inside the room, Ken found he didn't really have the strength left to move freely. So he slid down onto his knees in front of Nagi, who was watching his face intently. He looked up at the boy, through his sweat and pain, and smiled.

"I'm glad you didn't run away." Nagi blinked, but Ken had grown so use to the child that he could see the expression in the otherwise dull gesture; Nagi, he knew, was touched. The smile turning into a playful grin, Ken teased, "Now, do you know how to drive a double-wide?"

With a feather light brush of his small hand, Nagi reached over to briefly touch Ken's leather gauntlet set over his wound. In an instant, he withdrew. "You're hurt."

Ken maintained his smile, trying to show the boy he looked worse than it felt. Which was a sheer and complete lie; the talon had torn clean through, and it had ripped more flesh from his body when it was yanked out. The blood didn't stop, but it was thickening against the hole slightly; if he wasn't careful it would get infected, and if he wasn't treated soon, he just might bleed to death. Deep in his mind, he knew Nagi would realize that as well, but still, he tried to detour the subject. Heaving himself painfully to his feet, Ken mumbled good-naturedly, "Don't remind me."

He hoisted himself onto the bed next to Nagi, dropping onto it like a dead weight. When they both stopped jostling on the mattress, Ken peeled his jacket off slowly, doing it quite awkwardly with one hand. And then, to his amazement, Nagi timidly reached over to help him, lightly taking the folds of the sleeve off his injured, blood-stained arm, managing not to catch the heavy material on the wound. It was the first time Ken had actually seen the boy-Schwarz do as much moving since they'd been together. _He's getting more comfortable here,_ he realized happily. Then, almost sadly, he thought, _Or is it only with me? Poor kid._

Ken stripped off one gauntlet and fingered his wound; he gave a sharp intake of air when he did. _Bad idea! Damn, but it_ hurts_! That bastard got me good!_

Ken started to stand to tend his damaged shoulder, when Nagi suddenly asked quietly, "Can I do something?"

"No," Ken panted, half standing. Then he saw the child sink back into himself out of the corner of his eye, perhaps disappointed or, more likely, hurt, as if Ken had just brushed him off. Not wanting to see him retreat back into his silence, Ken flopped back down onto the bed. "Actually," he said, "there should be a first aid kit sitting in the fore room. It's a mess out there, though."

Nagi blinked at him for a second, not actually believing Ken was asking for his help. Then he dipped his head slightly in a nod and left the confines of the room. He still moved like Schwarz, a black shadow that swept through noiselessly, and vanished as if it never were. _But he's not Schwarz,_ Siberian reminded himself. _He doesn't want to go back to them._ And for a moment, he wondered if the Black assassins would set Omi free without getting what they wanted in return. With a sigh, Ken lowered his head and pulled his shirt off, his hair toppling over his eyes.

"Oh,_ ouch_..." he moaned. Mind shifting, he said to himself aloud, "I owe Betrüger one."

Bending his arm up at the elbow, cutting off the downward flow in his veins, Ken inspected his poor shoulder with eyes only. Then he heard the faint step of Nagi as the boy returned, carrying only what was necessary. Schwarz was teaching him everything and doing it well, he had to give them that. _At least they didn't make him a truly perfect cold-hearted killer, I guess._

"Thanks," Ken breathed. Now that he was still, resting, all the pain was starting to slam into his brain, making him feel everything he had just experienced that morning. But he didn't have time for it. Nagi handed over the things and sat down next to him, watching Ken hurriedly wash and wrap his shoulder. When he started to weave the bandages using his one hand and gripping it in his teeth, the boy intervened.

With his small hands and frail looking fingers, Nagi set the cotton gauze against Ken's wound, sealing the gaping, oozing hole and began winding the bandages around him. It was agony with the first pressure, but each new wave of pain was deadened by the first, and Nagi worked lightly, precisely. But Ken saw how his hands shook, how he tried hard not to touch him at all. He was nervous and awkward around Ken, but at his task, he was quick and clean, skilled. _He's fine - when he's alone._ Ken watched the boy, his dark teal eyes full of pity. He wondered what kind of past Nagi had, but didn't dare pry. That was the worst thing he could do.

Nagi fell back when he was done, and Ken tested his arm. Completely tended, but still able to move, Ken snatched up his shirt, not bothering to find a fresh one. In the quiet moment that followed, Ken saw Nagi pick up one of his bagh nakhs, and then just as soon set it back down. It was strange, but he felt nothing at all at seeing a member of Schwarz with his weapon. Was that a good thing? He tensed when Nagi all of a sudden lifted a hand to Ken's neck, just the skin of one finger close enough to touch. It took him a minute, but Ken realized it was the scar forming around his neck from the night at the warehouse that drew his attention.

"We did that?" Nagi said lightly, thinking back.

_We? Oh, Schwarz._ "Mmm," started Ken, as if it were no big deal. "That Schuldig guy pulled a fancy move on me." He sniggered. "I didn't see it coming." He turned a grin on Nagi. "And you sure slammed me good, too!"

There was a slight air of offense around the boy, but Ken had only meant it as a compliment. Looking back at the gauntlet with the claws, Nagi said, as if in defense, "You tried to hit me."

"Eh?"

"Back then."

Staring at the bagh nakh, Ken finally understood. He meant the time at the museum by the bay, with Eszett's witchcraft and unearthly ritual, when Weiß had gone to save Sakura and Aya-chan. He remembered seeing Nagi Naoe fling Omi back with nothing more than his outstretched hands, crushing Omi against a pillar. And he had taken his claws to the boy-Schwarz. Or tried to. If he remembered correctly, it didn't quite work out that way thanks to Farfarello.

Ken scratched the bridge of his nose awkwardly. He wouldn't apologize, but still, given the present moment, it was strange. What could he say? "It wasn't anything personal," he finally commented with a flippant shrug.

"You couldn't touch me," said Nagi thickly, almost to the point of whispering. But there was also a proud note in his voice, that of a warrior recalling a battle well fought. "None of you." Then the demeanor changed, and he once more became nothing but the vulnerable little boy. "But now if you wanted revenge..."

"Back then I was protecting someone," interjected Ken, sickened slightly to think that Nagi, at any point, feared retaliation from Weiß, like they would hurt him while he was helpless.

"Protecting someone," mimicked the other, testing the words. He understood them, though. He had tried to protect Tot, but failed miserably. In fact, he felt he'd only caused her more suffering. Weiß and Schwarz could only fail at protecting those they cared for, it seemed. They were only killers. Finally he said, in a voice from the past that was far younger, "Where was Weiß when I needed that protection."

Ken blinked.

"If it had been me? How would things be if I were Weiß?" He drifted off into a remorseful silence, his thoughts wondering around the existence of those of Black and White.

Ken pondered that statement too, thinking that Nagi and Omi were opposite equivalents. If Omi had turned to hatred from his past, if that time of being kidnapped and losing everything left his heart empty instead, would he still have become Weiß? Would Ken ever have met the remarkable boy now called Bombay? Ken also had to wonder if he would have become Weiß if he'd known beforehand of Kase's betrayal. How easy it would have been to become Schwarz instead...

"Sorry," said Nagi suddenly. And Ken knew, somehow, it wasn't for the heavy moment, but for everything, any wrongs he had ever done that might have been done against Siberian. Ken glanced over to him, seeing the boy was being sincere. It seemed with the loss of his gift, he had also let go of some of the Black thoughts, and began to ponder on different elements. It was actually nice to have a conversation with the boy.

He smiled at Nagi then, and he ruffled his hair with his intact arm, a gesture he would have done to any of the children he ever minded. He said with a good-natured laugh to set him at ease, "I knew there was a good kid in there somewhere."

When Nagi lifted his head, pushing back his tousled dark locks, Ken caught his breath. It was so faint, so minor, but the boy's lips curved slightly up in a tiny smile. It made Siberian's heart stop, but it was a pleased shock. It was the first time he had ever seen the boy smile. It was only a little, but he still smiled. Ken brightened. _Maybe even in Hell there can be some good achieved after all._

"Now then," he said, feeling slightly invigorated even after everything else, "I gotta get this trailer someplace else." As he started numbly for the door, he heard the softest remark from behind him, a tone to dull the light.

"Please."

Nagi's voice was once more soft and lost, and that one word, whispered as if no one would hear it, was forlorn. It brushed against his ears, a sound that sent shivers down to his heart, making him feel totally awful. _Why?_ Even though he was aware of the danger from Betrüger after their failed hit, Ken stopped, and turned back to face Nagi. The boy sat on the bed staring at his own hands, the same hands that had once taken Ken and, with mysterious force, thrown him against a building. The same hands that had just moments before helped heal him. Weiß and Schwarz. What was happening to them now?

"Please," Nagi Naoe whispered into his hands, "don't leave. I don't want to be alone anymore."

Ken felt that horrible pang of guilt and sympathy drive into his chest, and he moved back over to sit down beside him again. He hadn't realized that Nagi felt lonely without them around. After all, they were Weiß. He thought he would be suspicious and uneasy with them hanging around him all the time. But without Schwarz, he had no one to talk to, no one to even spend time with, no matter how meaningless that time was. Ken had always tried to be there with him, but...

_But then I just wanted him to tell me where they took Omi. And now I have his trust._ What could he do with it? They trusted each other, after all of this, but Ken hadn't thought about what would happen when it was over.

"I don't want to be alone," Nagi repeated in a hushed, trembling voice. From his angle, with the dark brown hair hanging limply in Nagi's eyes, Ken couldn't see his face. He could only watch the fingers work against the boy's palms with tattered nerves as Nagi clutched his own hands, sheltered in on himself.

Even though he still felt as if he shouldn't, Ken set a comforting hand atop Nagi's gripped hands, feeling the cool, clammy feel of the boy's skin. He felt him quivering, just slightly, under the pale skin. Chewing the inside of his lip and wondering what Aya would say, Ken made up his mind. With the weakest of smiles, he told the once Schwarz, "You won't be alone anymore. You can stay here."

Nagi vaguely moved his head so he could look at Ken from the corner of one eye, though still half buried under his hair, shyly. He said in his rich voice, a curious sound, "With Weiß?"

Not so sure that would be a good response, Ken said nicely, as if to drive the point home it didn't matter how Aya or Yoji felt about it, "With me. If you want to."

"Want?" It was an usually strange sound, that word coming from Nagi. He made it sound like something impossible, like he had never truly given much thought to having what he wanted, his wishes or his thoughts only for himself. Ken knew as part of a team, the whole came first. Apparently with Schwarz, nothing else came into play. "What I want?" Nagi whispered again, and it looked like it hurt him to say the second time.

Finally, he lifted his face fully to look up into Ken's eyes. His pale face, with the soft features of his age, was very intent, his liquid eyes once more searing into Ken, as if he could peel away layers of his soul and find deceit waiting there. But Ken knew he wouldn't see that, no matter how many times he had run into uncertainty and distrust in the past. Siberian was nothing but truthful with the boy, and he had nothing to hide. Still, the penetrating gaze was uncanny and deep coming from one so young. And suddenly, Nagi's large blue eyes welled up with tears. The thought of having someone honestly caring for him overwhelmed him.

Ken's lips titled up in a sad smile, but it was also somewhat happiness he felt; those tears were a sign he had managed to get through the boy's cold, calculated façade. He had set the solitary, silent child free from the prison the world, and a lifetime of hatred, had caught him in. Without words, Ken lifted a hand to tenderly touch Nagi's cheek, stroking the crystal tears from his lashes before they fell. Ken's hand was rough compared to the unspoiled soft skin, but it was the first true human touch Nagi had ever felt, a soothing touch exclusively for him, and he pressed his cheek deeper against Ken's palm, to submit to that touch, eyes drifting closed.

And when Ken felt the boy's hand fall, hesitantly, shyly, to rest on his leg, a little too high up on his thigh for comfort, the realization of the situation slammed him, and Ken jerked back into his senses when he knew what the boy wanted. _Oh, no... oh, damn!_

That was dense of him not to sense it first! Why hadn't he picked up on it before it came this far? He could currently feel Nagi's forlorn sorrow warming into desire like the sun appearing in midwinter, and now it seemed too late to back out of it. _Shit... he wants me to - but I'm a - but he's only - Shit!_ In a flash Ken's whole body tensed, and it was an effort not to leap backwards in horrified disgust.

_Don't!_ he warned himself. If he pulled away now, turned away from the child opening his whole soul to him, he would forever lose the trust he worked so hard to establish, and completely shatter the boy's heart. Nagi Naoe was a slip of a child after the loss of his powers, and he'd been locked away in a shell; if Ken turned away now, he would ruin him totally. He was too vulnerable and lost, and he needed someone to care about him. But surely Nagi didn't need _that_! In his devastated, lonely mind, Nagi only thought that's what he wanted. He didn't know any better.

But Ken sure as hell did, and now he felt trapped in the moment. Head spinning, Ken tried to stay calm, and not let Nagi feel his anxious panic. He felt slightly frantic, mind working speedily for a way out. He knew Nagi didn't have the courage to really make the first move; he was waiting for Ken, his touch, his kiss, to respond. _Kiss?_ Had he voiced it, he would be squeaking. _If I - How could I - Hidaka, you can never again face those children or look any parent in the eye after this if you don't get yourself away clean! Damn, damn, damn!_

He felt Nagi roll his head against his palm expectantly, the dark hair brushing over his bare wrist, the soft wisps light against his skin, and Ken couldn't stop the shiver that tingled up his spine. Nagi of course felt it, and took it for something entirely different. The boy lifted his delicate face to Ken, fine lips parting open just so.

Then, gazing down onto that beautiful face with pity, Ken felt his panic melt away. He was in control, he realized. And while that could mean he could literally do whatever he wanted to the child, a thought which left Ken feeling dirty for even thinking it, he realized all he had to do was show the boy he wasn't alone in the world. Sympathy, caring.

Gently, Ken raised his other arm, somewhat stiffly against the wound and bandages, and took Nagi's face in his hands. The tears spilled out then, washing down the boy's cheeks and against Siberian's hands, seeping between his fingers. They were warm compared to the cool softness of Nagi's skin. So close, he could feel Nagi's uneven breathing in lukewarm lapses against his throat, under his chin. And tenderly Ken leaned in, and he kissed Nagi's forehead with a caressing lightness that made the boy melt against him with a soft tremble. When he started to pull back, Nagi began to arch his back, bringing his head up to find Ken's lips.

But he didn't want to chance anything further. Trying to gentlemanly dissuade the child, Ken let out a breathy, awkward sigh, whispering, "Nagi…"

Suddenly, the moment shattered into a million pieces as the window behind them exploded, shards of glass violently hurling against them. With it, came the splitting crack of a gun. Ken immediately clasped Nagi to his chest and flung both of them to the floor, putting himself over Nagi protectively as a storm of bullets pelted the van, many tearing clear through the metal frame. The heavy artillery sailed against the side of the vehicle with such force it made it shake on the wheels, tilting. Pounding, beating, like the heaviest fall of hail, it rained down. Through gritted teeth, Ken knew that if they hit the gas tank - _Son of a bitch!_

Ken slipped his arm under Nagi, grabbing him at the waist to lift him up, using himself as a shield to protect Nagi. They fell against the wall, out the door and into the corridor. "We have to get out of here," Ken rasped above the din and firestorm. _How many are there, though? Shit!_ Scanning the living quarters, the only thing they could do was go out the front. So much for the secretive back door escape. "Come on!"

With gunfire echoing in the room behind them, the two stumbled out the door, practically falling off the steps. And suddenly, everything was just a whir of activity, loud and confusing. Ken felt Nagi jerked from his grasp, and then a fist drove into his stomach, knocking all air from his lungs with a painful upward thrust. The next blow slammed into his wounded shoulder, a low blow, and the pain instantly sent Ken to his knees. Winded, gasping, with fresh blood staining the wrappings around his shoulder, Ken lifted his head, one eye alone opened to view, unfocused, his assailant.

Nardus stood over him with a dangerous grin, the dying light casting an amber sheen over his hair, his waving earrings glinting like rubies in the dying autumn light. Despite the chill in the air, his white shirt under his long trench was wide open down the chest to show the bandages around his middle from where Ken had bloodied him. Siberian knew it was the Deceiver's payback time.

Nardus let loose one of those fanged grins, and suddenly brought his booted toe up, sharply kicking Ken in the rib cage with a heavy crack, knocking him backwards. Hitting the ground on his back left Ken stunned, breathlessly heaving a moan of utter pain. He unconsciously rolled onto his side, thinking how much he was getting tired of having the shit kicked out of him. _I should be better than this..._

Then he heard Nardus laugh, a deep, mellow sound that rankled him. Siberian opened his eyes, heedless of the dark sweat the dripped down his face, to glare at him. With teeth grit together to bear the agony, Ken lifted himself onto hands and knees, slowly making his way to his feet with the Betrüger watching.

"Hey, Siberian," taunted Nardus, "aren't you gonna fight me? Or are you afraid to face a better tiger?" He laughed again.

Ken rounded towards him, bringing his fists up and ready to - claw? He tensed and gasped slightly when he noticed he hadn't either of his bagh nakhs. Both sat back inside on the bed, when he and Nagi had been brutally interrupted. _Fuck!_ Now he faced an opponent with nothing more than his bare fists. No choice.

With a feral, challenging cry, Siberian leaped to Nardus, who blocked, but Ken brought his leg up at the same time, easily flexible despite abused muscles crying out, and straight-legged kicked the Betrüger across the side of his neck. Unfortunately, he hadn't the strength to crack his collar bone, but still enough to send him sprawling. He'd be seeing double for awhile, too. Ken smirked, pleased. But it was short-lived, as usual during battle, when there came a sharp order of, "That's enough!"

With a growl, Ken turned to see Siem standing behind him, holding Nagi Naoe. He had the boy's left arm bent at an awkward angle behind his back, a gun drawn and loose in his other hand. When Siem saw he had the Weiß member's attention, he lifted the muzzle of the gun and set it to Nagi's temple. The Schwarz-boy stood placidly in his grip, no expression at all, neither of fear nor pain. It seemed he hadn't a care at all about the thought of being shot in the head. He was cool Schwarz, but his eyes were different, lifeless.

"Don't fight," said Siem, "or this little boy dies." He pulled back on the trigger in declaration. Nagi merely blinked once.

Ken tensed in both worry and anger and lowered his hands, easing off his fighter's stance. Suddenly, he heard Nardus say, "Sorry for interrupting you with your little boy-toy!" And he returned the kick in an instant before Siberian knew what was coming, slamming his heel into Ken's jaw, who once again crashed viciously into the frozen asphalt of the road.

While Nardus proceeded to viciously beat the battered Weiß until he could thoroughly break him, Siem stared down on Nagi with a confused, dark look. _What's he doing? Reports say he's telekinetic, and could easily hurl all of us against a brick wall. So why doesn't he kill us?_ Were the reports wrong? Then his eyes focused on the boy's dark head, and he saw a heavy crusted welt deep in his scalp. _Ah. Could it be?_ Tilting the gun in his grip to free some fingers, Siem took his hand and brushed it through the youngest Schwarz's hair, starting at the nape of his neck and working up in the opposite direction his hair fell, to see the healing wound.

And Nagi tried to pull away from his hand, understanding entirely what he was doing. Siem said in a low voice, almost soothingly, "Why don't you fight as well?" In reply, Nagi Naoe hung his head, and Siem felt him go numb in his hands. Leaning down, only inches away from his head, Siem's soft voice said with satisfaction, "You can't anymore, can you?"

Ken hit the ground with Nardus' final blow, nothing left to give; he was totally spent, and couldn't fight back now for fear of losing Nagi. Then Betrüger was over him, grabbing him harshly by his bad arm and hauling him to his feet, but totally weakened as he was, Ken hung limply in his grasp. Without the heavy, rough support from Nardus, he would have fell, bruised and bloody, to the ground again. Nardus squeezed the fingers of his other hand against the palm trigger, and his broken talon came free. He jabbed it dangerously close to Ken's face.

"I appreciate it," he snarled. "This blunt end, it's much more messy. It will hurt a lot more, I promise you." And he threw back his arm for a hard stab.

"Wait, Nardus."

Only his brother's eyes rolled to him, but he stopped his attack. Ken could only vaguely hear what was happening through his pain. Once more Siem put the gun to Nagi's head, and asked heavily, "Where is Yoji Kodou and Aya Fujiyima?"

Nardus smiled into Ken's face, anxious for a reply so he could finish off Siberian. And move on to the next Weiß. Ken replied, half coughing, "Not here."

Nardus made a sputtering sound at his insolence, and shook him in jerking movements. "Where?" he demanded on behalf of his brother. Ken could only shake his head, an answer and yet not one. Either he truly didn't know, or he refused to tell them. "_Tch!_" snapped the Betrüger. "Fine, then die!"

"No." Nardus looked up to Siem in shock, thoroughly disappointed. "We need bait if we want to be certain that Weiß and Schwarz will come to us from hiding."

"So take the boy-toy," whined Nardus.

Siem looked down on Nagi again, and smiled. "He has no powers," he informed his brother; Ken flinched. "He is no longer valuable to Schwarz." He pressed the gun against his head. "He is useless to us, as well."

When he flexed as if to pull the trigger, Ken screamed, "NAGI!"

Only to watch Siem laugh and violently throw the boy to the ground as if he were a mere rag doll; next came Nardus' elbow on the back of Ken's neck, at the spine. Fighting off a new wave of pain, nausea and unconscious, Ken looked over to Nagi's frail form on the ground where the child had landed, only partly catching himself. Siem casually returned his gun to his holster with a devilish smirk, staring down not at the Schwarz, but on the fallen Weiß.

"Bring him," he ordered his brother, stepping over Nagi to leave.

Nagi, feeling weightless, lifeless, _useless_, pulled himself up to sit back on his heels, his heart the only thing in agony. And then he heard the heavy footfalls, saw the polished black shoes step up to him. He lifted his head to gaze up at the new person on the scene, and his eyes fall on a familiar face. Instantly, the boy-Schwarz's expression became dark and cruel.

Ikeda, once of Schwarz, stood tall over him, and Nagi felt a cold sense of authority and satisfaction about the man, whom he knew immediately as a traitor. Behind him, the Betrüger brothers were evilly watching, Siem in silence, Nardus grinning with his fangs, Ken in his grasp.

Ikeda said in a heartless voice, "So the little prodigy has no powers any longer?"

Nagi's eyes narrowed in anger. Seeing this man whom Crawford tried hard to fashion, but failed; the man who Schuldig loved to taunt because of his lack of special abilities - it gave Nagi a measure of courage to face him with the thought he was always what Ikeda could never be to Schwarz: important. Even with the loss of his power, Nagi held fast to that thought to boost his bravery, and he stood, slowly. Despite his youth's restrictions, he pulled himself to his full height before Ikeda and glared on the turncoat.

Then, Ikeda gave a dark, crooked smile to the young Schwarz. "No powers," he repeated in a hateful, spiteful growl. And suddenly his large hand shot out and caught Nagi around the throat.

Nagi brought his hands up defensively, but all he could do was wrap his lithe fingers around the offending wrist, which did nothing against the pressure he suddenly felt. His air was violently cut off by his squeezing, constricting windpipe, and Nagi let out a helpless gasp, air he couldn't replace.

Ikeda's eyes were crazed and beaming, watching as he crushed the life slowly from the boy. "I've always wanted to kill a Schwarz head," he whispered insanely. "I'll start with you!"

With painful tears in his eyes, hearing Ken's protest vaguely in the distance, Nagi growled in a hoarse wheeze, "Crawford... will kill you!"

"Heh!" Ikeda scoffed, and suddenly his other hand wrapped around his slim neck as well, adding additional lethal force. He lifted the child off his feet, leaving him dangling inches above the ground with no way to relieve the pressure. Little fingers dug into the man's arm with diminutive effect, and he heard Ken shout his name. Suddenly, Nagi gave a soft cry, and Ikeda screamed out in pain. Grip gone, Nagi fell, chest heaving, face red, to the ground.

Ken jerked in Nardus' grasp, all three watching in stunned silence as four darts, the weapon of codename Bombay, hurled out of nowhere and plunged themselves into Ikeda's outstretched arms, so quick and deep it sent blood flinging into the air. Ken gasped, his frantic mind thinking the timely deliverance could only be from Omi Tskuniyono; he felt relief, happiness, wonderment at that thought. But then he saw, coming forth from the shadows -

"Aya!"

Codename Abyssinian, his long face set into a deadly mask, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and in a dramatic move, threw them out forward. The remainder of Omi's darts sailed through the air into the enemy. Ikeda took another in the leg, while Nardus, who wasn't even in his aim, used Ken as a shield. Siem pulled his head away in time to miss one. Aya leaped into the air, his coat swirling out like wings, and drew out his katana with a resonant battle cry. He hit the earth with a dancer's grace, going for Siem, but the brothers dodged in time. Ikeda left immediately, afraid for his own life.

"Niisan!" Nardus cried out in alarm, pulling away with Ken.

Behind the ruckus, Nagi slowly got to his feet, one small hand to his abused neck; the coloring was returning to his livid, drained face.

Aya moved in for the kill, but fell back when Siem raised his arm, not with a gun -

But with a detonation device. Aya cursed under his breath. Ken gasped, looking towards Nagi, who was closest to the trailer. Siem smiled, close-lipped, and whispered to Abyssinian, "Farewell." And he squeezed the trigger.

The floral trailer exploded in a burst of fire and light, spewing melting chunks of steel and rubber, charred greenery, broken glass, and a hail of rocks and showering dirt. After a short time, it settled into nothing more than snapping flames licking the sky, devouring what remained of the large, pink Weiß florist shop. Aya, with nothing more than minor cuts and scratches, lifted himself off of Nagi. The boy laid there in disbelief, shocked that the staid, cold Weiß member had thrown himself over the Schwarz to protect him. These people continued to astonish and confuse him with their selflessness.

Blinking, hearing alarms and sirens sounding, Nagi rolled off his stomach and onto his side, lifting a shy, slightly fearful, gaze to Aya. Abyssinian didn't acknowledge the boy in the least. Whereas Ken would have instantly asked him if he were all right, cared for him if hurt, Aya merely stood and moved away. Not even a look.

Somehow, Nagi knew he shouldn't expect it. Not with this one. But to be sheltered from the blast by him was still... encouraging. Nagi shook his head slightly, trying to re-learn how to breathe after being strangled, and groggily sat up. He watched Aya's back, where he stood glaring off into the distance, where the Betrüger car had escaped.

Standing, Nagi followed his gaze. _Ken?_ They had him. What would they do to him? Feeling a sharp stab in his chest, an emotion he couldn't quite identify in his heart, Nagi Naoe lifted a delicate hand to touch his forehead, remembering. Quickly, he withdrew his hand, not wanting to spoil the feel. The feeling of Ken Hidaka's kiss. Nagi felt stunned, confused, and somewhat unsure of himself; he never expected he would break down like he did with Ken before, but he wanted to linger on that moment as long as possible. _Why? What am I doing? Why do I feel - like this?_

Suddenly, Aya's resolute voice said deeply, "We have to leave here." The police were coming. "We have to disappear."


	18. Achtzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Achtzehn (Eighteen)

The day that seemed to last beyond an eternity thankfully, finally, came to a close as evening drifted towards night. In mid-autumn, it was already dark out, day plunged early on into an unreachable blackness. It was freezing, and the deep blue-black sky overhead was starless. Through the shadows, Aya led Nagi on a trek through the hidden ways and back alleys of Tokyo city; to Nagi, it seemed the redheaded Weiß was taking the way almost haphazardly. It was like he was guided through the dark by the mere wind itself. Yet Nagi followed him without thought or complaint, never once questioning his choice of paths. The silent lamb to slaughter. But then, he had nowhere else to go.

Huddled into the sweater Ken had lent him and clutching the only surviving bagh nakh to his chest, Nagi kept his eyes focused on Aya's straight back, listening to the lifeless click of their boots against the dirt-packed pavement. They moved wordlessly through another maze of side streets and back yards, no more than shadows themselves. Ahead, Nagi saw the faint gleam of a lamp post, and as they left the skulking gloom of the buildings behind and slipped into the open night, Nagi saw they were on the rear stretch of highway outside the city park. He hesitated, thinking that if they left the security of the towering homes and businesses, they could easily be spotted. He wasn't worried about the police, but about Betrüger. And also worried for Schwarz. If Ikeda had turned against them, would there be others?

But he blinked back his surprise when Aya simply kept going, striding briskly into the open dark, moving like someone on a grave mission. He knew where he was going. Gulping back his dismal thoughts quietly, Nagi followed him. Aya moved towards the park, but did not go in. He walked the length of the sidewalk outside the perimeter for some time, past closed cafés and shops caught in dead time with no late customers. Nagi wondered exactly how late it had gotten, how long since Ken was taken.

Soon his eyes spotted a pink convertible, the hood drawn and tinted windows shielding the car's belly from all passers-by. It stood out brightly in the darkness, like the only star of the night. And it was to that car that Aya walked. Nagi couldn't suppress his shock, but gawked at the man's back. He knew that wasn't a car of Weiß, despite the familiar color, and he wondered who was waiting for them. When Aya reached the passenger's side door and took hold of the handle, Nagi was certain the car waited secretly for them, and he went forward. Aya opened the backseat door for him, and silently they both slipped into the vehicle.

The beautiful, dark haired Birman looked at Aya curiously from behind the wheel as they got in. Her eyes were full of worry. "Where's Siberian?" she inquired in her delicate tone, low with concern. "I thought you were going to bring him?"

Aya shook his head. "They took him."

"Do you know where?" she asked. He merely looked at her, and even Nagi, situated in the backseat and watching the backs of their heads, knew in Aya's violet eyes was an affirmative, but that he would not tell her. "I can take us there," she insisted.

Abyssinian said nothing, but instead immediately changed the subject. "Have you heard anything from Balinese?"

It was her turn to shake her head, and for a brief second, Nagi caught her glance back at him from her rearview mirror, suspicious of speaking so openly in the presence of a Schwarz. She said, "Betrüger phoned in a story to the police and the media, claiming that Weiß is behind this whole kidnapping-murder scheme." Nagi titled his head, intrigued, this being the first time he heard of such news. "Kritiker is in an uproar at present. We know full well you four didn't kidnap the boy, but we also hold government and security jobs. Those of us on the force are trying to hold the outsiders at bay in the search for Weiß. But -"

"Something happened." Aya said. He didn't have to ask for the bad news, he knew it would come from the hollow sound of her voice.

"Cruisers spotted Yoji's car, and gave chase. There was an accident."

"Is he dead?"

"We haven't learned of any casualties yet. It may take until dawn to go through the wreckage in search of bodies. The car exploded off an embankment. One agent has theorized, from what evidence she could find, that it looked like the car was in fact torched, not that the gas ignited. So I am hoping..."

"If Yoji hadn't told Manx about the hit, we wouldn't be so spread thin," he mused darkly. Though his demeanor was heavy, there was a slight hint of understanding in Aya's voice, as if he should have known Yoji would try to do whatever it took to save Manx from Betrüger; Yoji never trusted the Deceivers in the first place.

"You were all prepared to kill Takeshi Yori?" she said thickly. In her typical smooth, staid eyes there came a flicker of a challenge, as well as clear disgust. Aya simply met her stare with one of his own, and over-powered her. She lowered her gaze and continued, "Yoji didn't tell Manx everything. Aya, what's going on? _Who_ is behind this?"

"At present," he replied, "you do not need to know."

"Come on, Abyssinian," she said, more of a plea. "Don't cut me out of the loop. Manx told me about this hit on Yori, and I was there this morning to help Weiß. You took my assistance then. Please let me help now." He only stared straight ahead, watching the lonely roads outside the car. She gave a small sigh, but asked, "What happened tonight?"

"Betrüger hit the trailer," he said. "Hard. There's nothing left." In the backseat, Nagi fingered the closed claws of Ken's weapon in his lap. "Betrüger is out to destroy all three groups now, because they didn't get the murder they wanted."

"You know Kritiker wouldn't allow Takeshi Yori to be killed. It would have sent all of Kritiker into a free fall, and not only in Tokyo."

Nagi glanced at the back of her head. So Kritiker was spread out, just as Schwarz was. Black would have to be careful. But it wasn't as if he could return to them now to relay such information. Besides, that would breach the trust Ken Hidaka had put in him, and Aya. Why else would Aya bring him tonight?

It wasn't pity, but... trust? That seemed a bit of a stretch, too. Perhaps it was the sole fact Nagi was completely powerless now, and so Abyssinian just didn't care about his presence. He sighed, and it mimicked one from Birman, who said softly, "Weiß. Kritiker. Schwarz. We're all at odds with each other now, when we should all be focused on stopping Betrüger. Instead, we're running around like chickens with our heads cut off."

"My head is quite clear," said Aya. There was something strange in his voice, a distant tremor of someone talking as if in past tense, a dead man walking. Nagi noticed Birman tense, knowing she was drowning in worry to match his own.

"What do you mean?" she asked, but Aya didn't answer her.

He turned to her, saying, "Call Kritiker, and have them secure the scene where the shop exploded. There will certainly be remnants of Weiß left over that they may want to clean up." He turned the handle on the car door all of a sudden, and it made both Nagi and Birman jump.

"Where are you going?" the Kritiker agent demanded in bewilderment. "Aya?"

Standing outside, one arm on the roof of the car, Aya leaned down for a moment with his reply. "I'm going to finish the game," he answered her, and in his eyes was such an unbreakable, focused look. It was a look that said "I'm going to end this nightmare, or myself."

Birman's jaw dropped open. "Aya, you can't face Betrüger alone! You'll only get yourself killed! Please?"

Nagi watched as the Weiß member shut the door and moved cautiously back into the night. Yoji could very well be dead, and Ken could soon join him. He thought back to what Aya had said to him. _"We have to disappear."_ If he was going to face Betrüger as the only Weiß member left to fight the cross, then he was fully prepared to die doing it, whether successful or not. Abyssinian would end this twisted game one way or another. _Death is disappearing,_ Nagi understood. But what about Ken?

Birman shook her head at the windshield and the shadows which had swallowed Aya. "Crazy. Just crazy," she whispered, and Nagi wondered if she even realized he was still with her. "He can't do it alone."

And, for the first time since being with Weiß, Naoe Nagi felt rage at the situation. He may not have his powers anymore, but there were other ways to fight an enemy. Ken had shown him that much, and besides, no matter how much he couldn't bear it, there was always Schwarz to return to. In the same situation, they could help each other. And if Aya went alone, he'd only succeed in getting himself, and Ken, slaughtered. With an angry sound, Nagi leaped for the door.

"Where are you going?" Birman questioned, watching him in her rearview without missing a beat.

Leaning back in to retrieve the bagh nakh, Nagi merely met her eyes with bravery he thought he'd lost. Then he left the sanctuary of her car and blended into the darkness after Aya, wherever he was going.

Birman cursed lightly under her breath and reached for her cell phone. Aya was right, she needed to get that explosion scene under heavy wraps. But first, she had to report this meeting, and Aya's brash decision to dive head-first into the battle on his own. She dialed another number...

... and wondered why Manx wasn't answering her phone.

* * *

Dressed in the finest cloth of his perfectly pressed, navy blue, business suit, Takeshi Yori leaned in towards the Kritiker agent's lips to better hear the whispered news he brought. Then the older man stiffened in wonderment when it was revealed. He turned his face to stare at the agent in shock, his eyes wide. "Is it true?" he whispered back. The agent nodded seriously.

In a flash, Takeshi was on his feet, following the agent. Once out of the privacy of his study, where he had been conducting reports with others from Kritiker, he found a great deal of soundless commotion in the anterooms of his large and expensive house. Police officers were walk-running about, trying to look important and busy, but only succeeding in appearing just as stunned as the businessman felt. The agent, who was also a part of the police's forensic team, lead Takeshi to the center of the hubbub. Akira's bedroom.

The door was shut, and massed around it, were several policeman and his housekeeper, looking completely confused and distraught herself. The Kritiker agent was promptly allowed through when the others noticed he had brought the boy's father. The agent waved a hand to the door, and Takeshi entered swiftly, expecting the entire thing to be unreal. No lights were on in the dark room, but he could still see it was true.

His son was home.

Akira Yori sat on his neatly made bed, destroying the pristine folds and layers under his weight. He was drenched in an icy sweat and shaking badly, looking around at all the people nervously as an E.M.S. member gently swabbed his bloody lip; an ugly bruise was forming along his jaw line, where he'd apparently been hit. His lean hands gripped the edge of the bed beneath him, white and pale, and he looked as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. He also looked understandably rattled and scared, dressed in his school uniform, the last thing his father had seen him in.

Takeshi stood in the doorway for some time in utter disbelief. _How? Why?_ It was all so sudden and strange. Akira met his eyes for a moment, then turned away, as if he were ashamed of something. The sparse grouping of people in the room froze when they saw his father was present, then just as quickly, left the room. The E.M.S. unit treating the boy handed him some pain killers, which he instantly swallowed, before leaving reunited father and son alone. The only ones who remained were two Kritiker agents.

"Akira -" his father started, still in shock, standing like a lump of stone in the doorway. The boy turned to his father once more, silently shaking. He seemed completely out of it.

The head of Kritiker turned to one of the agents and asked softly, so that Akira could not hear, "Does Manx know?" The man who had retrieved him nodded solemnly. Takeshi's brows knit together. "What about Weiß?" The reply was a vague shake of the head and a passing shrug of the shoulders. _Not sure._

Brushing it off for the moment, Takeshi went to his son. "Are you hurt badly?" he asked, though there wasn't much trace of worry or sympathy there; only confusion. Akira flinched from him, shrinking away from his father's outstretched hands. He shook his head.

Takeshi looked down on the boy, puzzled. "How did you get away?" he asked. "Did they let you go?"

"Send them away." It was a faint, far away request. "The police... Everyone... please send them away. I don't want them all here." He lowered his head, cowering in on himself.

Takeshi stared at his son for a moment, but then nodded the order to the agent. The man spoke a few quiet words into a communication link, but they did not leave like the others. Kritiker had to know the situation. And despite Akira's hurt look and glare at the two suits behind his father, Takeshi did not make them leave.

A long time passed between them silently, and while some might have wondered about the situation, why father did not instantly run to embrace his frightened child, no one present seemed to think it odd. After all, Takeshi never took notice of his son. Why should now be any different? Suddenly, Akira sniffed, as if he had been thinking the same tragic and resentful thoughts. Takeshi Yori finally moved to sit down next to his son on the bed, and Akira tensed, yet he did not pull away.

"What happened?" Takeshi finally inquired again, this time a bit more concerned and soothing.

Another lapse of time drifted by, but then finally, when he was certain all the police had left the house, Akira asked darkly, "Worried about your business, father?"

Takeshi jumped as if hurt, but his eyes narrowed at the odd sound in the boy's voice. "You know that's not it."

"But that's why you didn't pay my ransom?"

Suddenly uncomfortable, Takeshi said, "What? How did you -"

"Is everyone gone?" Akira whimpered strangely.

One of the agents by the door replied gently, feeling sorry for him, "Yes."

Akira nodded. Suddenly he was cool and calm. And he said, "Heinke-chan."

A shadow summarily moved up behind the two Kritiker agents, both arms outstretched. In the light from the halls, hidden in the darkness from the room, no one saw her approach. Or the twin guns in her hands. All they heard was the thundering explosion as she pull both triggers simultaneously, and the pair of red flashes as the two bullets entered the Kritiker agents' heads from the back. They never knew what happened, but fell dead to the floor.

Takeshi Yori was on his feet in an instant, shocked, disbelieving, agog. He didn't comprehend the meaning of the entire situation so fast. "What in God's name are you doing? Who are you?" His authoritative tone cracked.

The woman aimed both her guns on the man, who, trembling, took a step backwards. But his flight was impeded by the bed behind him, where his son sat staring up at his father in amusement. The woman sniggered darkly in a husky tone. "You don't recognize someone on your own staff? After three years in your service? How pathetic!" She spat at his feet in rage, slipping into the room with a lethal grace, her eyes the only thing showing in the darkness.

"You -" He was cut off by his son, laughing.

Then suddenly, another woman rose off the landing, moving stealthily, cautiously, to the door. She had her own gun drawn with the muzzle lowered, but ready. Manx moved into the room quickly, and when she saw Takeshi and his son, she seemed even more perplexed. "What happened?" she started. Then her eyes fell to the bodies of her fallen comrades, almost at her feet.

She had only enough time to gasp before a hand, weighted with the metal of a gun, slammed into her face, knocking her out cold. Takeshi shouted something that was unintelligible amidst the swift action. Heinke stood over Manx, laying motionless on the floor in a tangled heap, unconscious and with a large gash across her right cheek. Smirking excitedly, Heinke lifted both guns.

"_Tsk, tsk,_" clucked Akira from the bed, where he now sat with his legs crossed regally. His eyes beamed with a devilish light, now the one in full control. "Not so fast, Heinke-chan." The woman looked at him over her shoulder. "Killing two is enough at the moment."

She nodded and smiled, such an obedient, loyal associate to the up-and-coming underworld mastermind. Akira returned her smile, then boldly turned to gaze up at his father, standing confused and petrified at his side, frozen in complete shock. Akira laughed that careless, childish laugh of his, a sound he knew his father had never before heard.

Smoothly, Akira stood to his feet, saying coolly, "What's the matter, father? Hadn't an inkling, eh? Never knew your only child could be a brilliant criminal overlord?"

Takeshi Yori could only stare at his son with an icy, blank expression. His eyes were as large and full as humanly possible, every sort of emotion passing through their look. It pleased Akira to no end to see his father so astounded and dumbfounded, his jaw slack like a dying fish out of water. The man, master of himself and others, seemed lower than the most useless underling. Siem would have loved to see this sight, Akira thought to himself wickedly. He advanced a step, but his father remained still, as if fixed to the floor.

The boy laughed again, a low thrumming behind closed lips, when he saw fear in his father's eyes. He hoped it was a fright of his son, and not just the current situation. _If not, he'll soon be afraid of me!_ Tilting his head in a beguiling manner, he said, "Not even familiar with the sound of your own son's voice to distinguish him over the phone, playing both kidnapped and kidnapper. For shame."

Then the temperature in the room dropped greatly with the coldness that wafted from the boy as Akira asked again, "The ransom? Why didn't you pay it, _Father_?" His eyes were cold.

"I - I didn't -" Takeshi swallowed methodically, his hands clutched and shaking at his sides.

"Oh, come now," said Akira. "I'm your son. You can answer my question faster than that."

"So much time -" he stammered, trying to reply in an intelligent way, explaining and excusing his actions in a manner his son, a mere boy, could understand.

When he didn't continue, Akira snapped suddenly, his voice booming in the darkened room, "I asked for what you thought I was worth!" His father jumped at the tone of voice; from one so young, typically silent and brooding in his room, on his computer, it was strange. Merciless. "Why? Wasn't I worth anything to you?"

"I thought you were already dead!"

"Did you?" the boy quipped in a matter-of-fact politeness, mockingly loud. "Oh, well, that makes it all fine then, doesn't it? Had I been alive, you would have paid, but since I was dead, I was worthless!"

"No -"

"Not even worth the hope?" In the darkness, his eyes were glowing with a feral light, full of rage and torment and tears, glittering against his eyes like shards of glass. Pent up anger, a lifetime of hatred and hostility, it was all coming forth now in that one heated moment. The boy looked at once pitiful and dangerous.

"Akira, stop it!" his father bellowed over his hysterics. And, perhaps for the first time ever, it sounded like he was sympathetic, even pleading. Akira stood silent and still, muscles quivering at the attempts to hold back his ranting and tears. Takeshi watched his son for a few moments, gazing intently at him as if trying to decide what to say. Akira's eyes narrowed suspiciously, waiting with expectations.

Finally he shrugged, and said, "I don't know what to tell you, son. I didn't know what to think, what to do. You don't know how hard these last few days have been for me."

Akira sniffed loudly, but the grave, black look slathered across his fine features never altered from that terrifying mask of hate. "And you don't know how hard these last sixteen years were. You never understood. I was always worthless to you, wasn't I?"

Takeshi Yori made a pitiable sound, moving closer to his child, who continued, "You never understood. And you never will. I waited for so long -" And with that, the boy seemed to lose what hold he had on his tumult of emotions, and he bowed his head over his tears, shoulders shaking with restrained agony and grief.

"Akira," his father whispered soothingly. And for once, he moved over and took his son in his arms, holding his racked body close and trying his best, despite his callous, business-like demeanor, to comfort the boy. He said softly against his hair, "I love you, you should know that." A sob broke from Akira's chest, but it was cut short with his father's next words.

"But now you know about Kritiker, so you should understand why my business always came first."

Suddenly, Akira tore himself from his father's embrace, and Takeshi heard the twin clicks from the bolt releases on Heinke's pair of guns. She was loading new rounds, insulted and hurt for Akira.

With a hoarse voice, the boy mastermind said over a dismal chuckle, "Understand? I do. I understand, and that's why I've been waiting for so long for this moment."

"What do you -?"

His father's questioning voice, reaching hands, whatever loving moment there might have been, if any, were shattered when Akira suddenly reeled about to face his father, his face brimming with rage and fire. He brought his arm up, slamming it into his own father's stomach - where the knife he held plunged deep inward, through cloth and flesh, muscle and sinew. Takeshi Yori had no idea what was coming, how it all happened, or what he even did to deserve it, but he doubled over his son's arm with the blade inside his gut. His sweaty face paled, eyes wide.

"Pain," growled Akira in a low whisper. "Now do _you_ understand?"

Takeshi made a heavy, confused gurgling sound, but said nothing. Akira viciously jerked the blade out. But before his father could fall to the floor, before he could become numb to the torturing pain, Akira pulled his arm back and sliced wide his chest. Blood squirted in fine rivulets through the air, across the boy's face. "Can you tell me how it feels?"

Bent, gasping, bleeding, Takeshi Yori looked pleading up to his son, and wheezed, "Akira - how could... you...?"

And Akira Yori smiled, bearing teeth like an underworld predator, like the Devil himself unleashed from Hell. He threw back his head, ebony hair wild in his face, and laughed that charming, bemused school-boy laugh. He was gleeful. He was crying. He said, "Oh, bad answer, Father dear!"

He swung the blade in a wide, devastating arc and took his father in the side of the neck, catching the jugular and sending deep crimson blood in all directions. Strangling on his own blood, drowning and breathless, Takeshi Yori, a prominent figure in Kritiker, fell as Akira released his grip on the hilt, letting the knife remain stuck in his father's body as he crashed to the floor.

Panting, Akira hissed, "You're afraid of me now, aren't you, Father? Hmm? Too bad you won't be around to see my value as the leader of the Tokyo crime scene. That _will_ be brilliant." He looked up to Heinke, whose eyes were large, but approving. Blood spattered, tears streaking his face, eyes gone completely insane, the boy said blankly, whole frame shaking with what he had done, shocked nerves despite the plan, "He sees my worth now, though, doesn't he, Heinke-chan? Say he does."

Like a tiny star against the cold night, she smiled, not afraid of the terrible child before her. "Yes, Akira. He knows now."

"Heinke-chan." Akira seemed like he couldn't move, still too stung and driven; the adrenaline his torment and venting created was dissipating, leaving him completely shattered and worn. He looked like he might pass out. But finally, he lifted his teary eyes and smiling face, and said, "We must return in time to greet Schwarz and Weiß."


	19. Neunzehn

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Neunzehn (Nineteen)

Schwarz certainly was an incredible group, that much was not up for debate. Omi sat quietly on the floor of the Schwarz underground lair. They had blindfolded him during the trip there, which Omi understood, but what surprised him most was when he finally figured out where exactly they were. It was, by his own reckoning, an old parking garage, long empty and left to rot. They took refuge in the basement, underground in the most literal sense, where several rooms were well maintained and turned into functioning business areas, with working electricity and plumbing; unfortunately no heat, and in the damp pavement of the concrete structure, it was freezing.

Omi was busy studying the ceiling in one of the kept rooms, wondering how many levels there were in the garage. He could hear a low, breathy wail of air as it tumbled throughout the abandoned place, a howling like out of a horror movie. But it was real, and unnerving. Then he finally lowered his eyes, and watched Brad Crawford where he sat at the desk, under an uncovered bulb and working busily at... something.

He wasn't sure what Crawford was doing. It looked like some unusually small weapon to Omi, almost like a slingshot. Whatever it was, it kept Crawford's attention while assembling it, which was good, considering he was in a dismal mood when he found he could not reach Schuldig. His focus was fixed on his working hands, but still, he kept trying to contact his missing teammate. With his hands snapping a lock and bolt, he nestled a phone in the crook of his neck, held between his ear and shoulder. Even from across the way, Omi could hear the unending, ringing tone; Schuldig still wasn't answering. Yet Crawford never gave up.

Suddenly, Omi heard the hollow, echoing taps of footsteps outside, coming down the stairwell beyond and moving through the long, tunnel-like hall. Then the door opened, and Farfarello joined them in the odd, stone office. Omi cocked his head inquisitively when he saw the Irishman carrying a small, dirty kitten in his arms. It's steel colored coat was patchy and mangled from being caked in dust and rain; the tip of its left ear was missing, probably from a fight with another, bigger feline. It was obviously a stray he had found wandering around outside.

Farfarello stopped just inside the doorway, regarding his leader with one wild, amber eye. His white fingers holding the kitten under the stomach scratched through its fur, but the hand atop the animal held it by the scruff of its neck, not allowing it much room to move or flee. And Omi felt his stomach tighten into knots. What was he going to do with the little kitten? He killed people so easily, without thought or regret, and for some reason, Omi could see him butchering animals for fun. It made him nauseous.

Breaking his gruesome ideas, Farfarello said to Crawford in a languid way, almost sounding hurt, "Schuldig beat me to God."

Crawford glared up at the other, never putting down the phone or the workings in his hands. He replied heavily, "He knows you wanted to be the first to meet God, Farfarello. He wouldn't leave."

"Hmm," sniffed Farfarello, though not quite in agreement. Stroking the kitten, he said, "He'd have a hard time sneaking into Heaven without the Devil's help."

"Rest assured, only Satan would assist you in that quest," said Crawford smoothly. And Farfarello smiled, looking pleased with that thought.

The entire exchange was strange, to say the least, but Omi found it very sad in a way. Farfarello was talking about death as if it were of no major importance to him, and Crawford, almost like a supportive father-figure, was assuring him of his glory at the time of his demise. Neither showed any regret or remorse. If they died, it seemed no one would care. Not even themselves. Omi felt sorry for them. _Why do they have to hate so much?_ he wondered to himself. But the most grave thing about their topic was the realization that Schuldig may actually be dead.

Crawford then said forcefully, "He's not dead."

Rolling his head from side to side unconsciously, the psycho Schwarz member smirked nonchalantly. "Is it foreordained?"

"No," muttered Crawford with a sigh. "I haven't been able to see anything of what's to come for some time now. It's as if all of Schwarz is falling to ruins." He gave a blunt, wicked chuckle, a man completely frustrated with everything. And for the first time in hours, he set the phone down, never having received an answer. "If Schuldig doesn't return -" He didn't finish that statement.

Farfarello let Crawford slip back into his brooding stupor, allowing him time to think things through. The pale Schwarz strode over to where Omi sat, the leather strap crossing the distance between his ankles scuffing across the floor with each step. Omi watched him move closer, then lean his shoulder blades against the wall. He leaned there for some time, before sliding down to sit on the floor. He started making soft clucking sounds to the kitten squirming in his grip, and Omi felt the sick feeling again, just waiting for the sound of the man's blades unsheathed.

Without realizing what he was doing, Omi said heavily, whispering, "Don't hurt it." He suddenly felt incredibly worried for the poor animal, and even though he wasn't sure he could stop him from doing anything, Omi simply couldn't sit still with Farfarello beside him. "You're not going to -"

Crawford gave a slight guffaw at that, sounding at once insulted and amused as he listened in on what the Weiß was implying. Farfarello's eye patch was the only thing Omi could see for a time, giving him no hint at an expression. The white-skinned Irishman sat petting his find, his voice soft as he spoke the barest words to the kitten's head. Finally, as if he just then understood what Omi had said, Farfarello turned so that his lone eye could look the boy in the face, and Omi let out a vague gasp. The look in his eye was something he'd never seen in the Schwarz before, and something he never would have imagined he'd find in such a man. The only word Omi could think of to describe that expression was compassion.

Suddenly, Farfarello stood himself up on his knees and shuffled over so that he was right beside the boy- Weiß, only inches apart. Omi looked up into his face, worried, but the Schwarz member sat back down and leaned against the wall. And amazingly, he handed the kitten to Omi. The boy started, but took the little tabby in his hands, feeling its matted fur and soft body. It writhed a bit in his grip, but settled soon enough. He was equally as startled to find the kitten was purring, enjoying the attention it was receiving from Farfarello, and now Omi. He looked back at Farfarello curiously.

The Schwarz pursed his lips, as if thinking of something to say, some sort of secret to reveal. Then he leaned down to Omi's ear and said quietly, "God says animals have no souls, that they don't go to Heaven."

Omi made a breathy, unsure sound. He never really had time to attend church, and as a member of Weiß, he felt awkward in such places. But he was aware of the preaching and philosophies of some religions, and knew enough to understand what Farfarello was saying. He also knew enough to disagree with a lot of it. Farfarello, on the other hand, was raised on nothing but the teachings of religion. It was all he knew, clinging to it rather obsessively. And Omi could tell he accepted it, but he was stunned when he heard the Irishman's take on the thought.

"It's important," said Farfarello earnestly, "to treat animals kindly. They don't go to the hereafter. So you must make their brief time on Earth joyful. Wrong - it would be wrong to make them suffer."

Omi gawked at him, not quite believing his ears. It was a sweet statement, but... _sweet_ coming from Farfarello? It seemed too astounding to believe, yet there it was. Omi stared at him for some time, thinking on how he never would have known such a thing about this Schwarz if he hadn't spent this horrible time with them. It seemed important, he thought, that he know that. But...

They were still enemies. What would happen when the time came that they face each other again as such? Could Omi pull the trigger on his crossbow after this? He hated to even think about it. His worst foe, and now they had an understanding. Would they ever be the same again? Omi hugged the bundle of fur closer, his heart sinking.

Said Farfarello, "You can hurt an animal, but it will still love you." The word was sad coming from the archangel. _Love._ Did he even know what that word meant?

Suddenly, Crawford stood from his place at the desk and blank computers, holding his contraption in his hands as he walked over towards them. "Still," he said in his baritone voice, "I really wish you wouldn't pick up every stray animal you find. That's how we wound up with this Weiß."

It took him a minute, but Omi realized he was kidding. Farfarello smiled, the first _real_ smile Omi had ever seen on him. "Take your cat back," commanded Crawford as he knelt down before them.

The Irishman did as told, and Omi let him take the kitten from him; he was too enthralled with the situation to really attempt to put up a fight, or feel any sort of concern at all. He simply watched Crawford's face, pondering. The head of Schwarz said, "Give me your arm."

Omi held it out. And they both paused, looking each other in the eye in hesitation and thought. Omi blinked, trying to read the dark look in Crawford's face. It clicked in his mind what it was, Omi understood his emotions. Crawford was looking at him in a sort of sad manner. Fast. Omi had instantly complied with his order as fast and easily as if it had come from Aya or Ken. It was as if they weren't enemies at all. Omi swallowed, too, when he understood why he held out his arm without concerned hesitation or scared thought. Trust. He trusted Crawford not to hurt him. One of Schwarz.

Crawford cleared his throat, actually uncomfortable, and rolled back the sleeve of Omi's jacket and shirt, laying bare the boy-Weiß's right arm. He then began strapping the unique weapon he had constructed to Omi's outstretched arm. His large hands were warm, the skin rough from years of fighting. He took the two leather straps and fitted them around his arm. Omi watched, brows knit, wondering what the heck it was. It did sort of resemble a slingshot. He felt Crawford's fingers work into his hand, and he opened it, to feel him put a trigger device secured, hidden, in his palm.

"What is this?" Omi asked, confused, when Crawford stood away.

"You lost all your weapons back at the warehouse," he replied evenly. Omi stared up at him. Did wonders never cease? "Squeeze your hand into a fist."

Half shrugging, Omi did as he was told, and jumped clean out of himself when he released the trigger and the bolt snapped loose on the weapon. Two twin legs cracked out with a hard force. It felt like it would tear his arm out of the socket and throw it against the far wall; it didn't really hurt, but mostly stunned him. Then he saw the metal-tipped arrow, nocked, and he realized what it was. A small crossbow.

"Wow!" he breathed, ogling the finery. It certainly was a unique weapon!

Reaching down, Crawford folded the arms back into place. They were so fine that it almost looked like some twig strapped to him. "If you wear loose clothes and keep your sleeve down, no one will ever know you wear it," said Schwarz. "Practice releasing it, so you can get accustomed to the pull."

Omi nodded dumbly, gazing at his arm and the bow in admiration. He was good; Schwarz was _good_. He flexed his fingers and hand, getting use to the feel of wearing the weapon. It was moderately heavy, but he would get use to it. He'd have to be careful at how he flexed his arm, though; it was strapped right up to his elbow. Not too bad, the weight was distributed evenly. He'd have to work on his aim as well, to scope out the target down the length of his own arm. Omi nodded again. He could do it; he could use this weapon.

Then he gazed up at Crawford. He opened his mouth, but the head of Schwarz knew immediately what he was going to say. "Don't thank me," he said, meaning it. "It's yours to keep, and after this, if you use it against Schwarz, it's only understandable."

Against Schwarz? Instead Omi countered, "After this?"

"We're going after Betrüger," Crawford replied, and Omi saw the fire in his honey eyes. "I can't do it with only Farfarello, and if Schuldig doesn't return, that leaves you. As much as I hate to say it, Weiß, we need you. In order to finish the game, we need your help."

Omi stared up at him for a moment in awe. Then he couldn't help but to laugh slightly when Farfarello shoved the kitten into his arms once more, his broken mind cracking a sudden, ironic joke. "Kitty in the house," said the archangel, his sole yellow eye glinting like his many blades.

* * *

It was close to midnight when Nagi Naoe finally found Abyssinian. It wasn't difficult to track him; he had effortlessly followed him after they left Birman behind, although Aya was damn good at remaining silent. He moved just like the animal he was codenamed after. But if Aya was as graceful as a cat, Nagi was the dark itself. He couldn't disappear from him that easily.

And it didn't surprise the boy-Schwarz in the slightest at where he found him. They were hiding among the shadows of an alley that opened out into a main stretch of a business street, shops lining the way ahead. Aya was silhouetted against the night by the hazy light from a nearby lamp post, standing tall and resolute, and there was an aura of immense sadness around him. Across the street ahead of them, there was the Koneko florist.

Aya's former place of employment, and the original secret lair of Weiß, was now closed, all lights out except for the dim reflection of a grow lamp far in the back of the shop, keeping new seedlings healthy and green. The sign across the door was loud and red: CLOSED. Nagi wondered who he was hoping to see there at this late hour.

"Why did you follow me?"

Nagi titled his head to regard Aya's straight spine and the back of his deep blood-colored head. He wasn't trying to hide in the shadows, even though his steps never made a sound; Weiß was too good not to know he had been followed. So he simply walked closer to stand beside Aya, carrying the bagh nakh with him. He didn't bother to reply, either.

Aya said heavily, his smooth tenor voice darkened by a slight agitation, "You'll only be in danger if you follow me."

In his quiet voice, a clear contrast to the member of Weiß, Nagi responded evenly, "You don't care about me." He didn't expect a reply. He didn't need to hear one. So he continued, "Why did you come back here? Are you hoping to lure Betrüger to this place?"

Aya growled, "I don't want them to come anywhere near here!"

Nagi looked upon the man with a focused eye, wondering what had caused him to become suddenly heated. He glanced back at the shop, and only then did he catch sight of something out of the corner of his eye. Aya had one hand clutched close to himself, something golden glinted in his grip. And Nagi thought back, the memory all at once going off in his mind. It was the earring that Abyssinian had always worn. Long and slender, it dangled from his left ear in all of the Schwarz's memories. But not now. He didn't wear that earring anymore, not once since he had been held in their care. Nagi's fine eyebrows met, and he couldn't help but to voice his wonderment.

"Your trademark earring," he asked, "why don't you wear it?"

Aya turned slowly to look him in the face, and his eyes were a glowing violet fire, given offense, made angry. He said, in a voice that came from those memories, a voice that came forth as if from the grave itself, "I haven't worn this earring since the day I found out she was awake."

_She?_ Nagi's lips parted in a thunderstruck revelation. "Your sister?" If Crawford knew that Aya-chan had awoken, that she had started a new life working in the same shop her brother had, he hadn't bothered to tell him. It wasn't much of an importance to him. In fact, it all confused him. "Why?"

Aya turned his eyes back to the shop across the way, falling into his brooding silence once more. Nagi thought he wouldn't respond. After all, to Aya, Nagi was still Schwarz not to be trusted, and certainly not deserving of any explanations. After a long moment, Nagi watched Aya touch a hand in reminiscence to the ear where he wore the earring, though now the hole had closed up, skin healed.

"My revenge was lifted when she came back into the light," he finally said, hardly above a whisper. "I died, so she could live."

Nagi gazed on him in puzzlement and vague admiration. It was a strange, bold statement to him, and Ken's words came back to invade his thoughts. _To protect someone…_ "Wasn't she avenged the night you killed Reiji Takatori?"

He saw Aya flinch in throbbing rage at the mention of that vile name. Nagi had always hated Takatori, too, but his hatred stemmed from his own lifetime of hating people in general. But Reiji Takatori had never been an intelligent man, and he was too easily swayed. Not someone worthy of anyone's respect, and certainly not from Schwarz.

As if picking up on the boy's thoughts, Aya said, "Schwarz could never understand. You only work to bring about the end of the innocent, those of the light."

Nagi blinked. "Those you protect." He sighed quietly. Why did they have to be so different?

Then a thought struck him, and Nagi turned to Aya. "You came here to say good-bye. You're expecting to be killed tonight." It was an accusation that made Aya's eyes narrow. To protect his sister and those of the light, Aya would die again... so that they could live without the threat of the Deceivers.

But that way of thinking, for some reason he couldn't quite comprehend, angered Nagi. Glaring up at the member of Weiß, he said in a hoarse whisper, "You don't care about anyone. If you did, you wouldn't do this. You're only going to get him killed."

Slowly, Aya rounded on the boy, his frame suspicious and cruel. It rankled him to be spoken to in such a manner from someone of Schwarz, and Nagi knew it. Aya replied darkly, "Him?"

"Don't you care about Weiß? Do you call them your friends?" Aya glared down at the boy. "If you go alone tonight, you're sentencing not only yourself to death, but Ken as well."

With a hard, distasteful sigh, Aya turned to leave the boy, to get away from his presence. But Nagi actually grabbed his arm, and his small hand was like iron, the look in his eyes cold. For a brief moment. Aya hesitated, and Nagi ascertained he was wondering where his powers were. But suddenly, as if cautious to the very thought, and irked at the implication in the Schwarz's tone - the implication that he didn't consider every possibility to save Ken's life - Aya reacted.

He threw his arm and smacked the boy across the cheek. Nagi jerked on impact, his head knocked to the side, hair flying. With his body's natural reaction, he released his hand on Aya, who turned, leaving him as he so wished. Nagi sullenly stayed like that, face thrown to the side where the slap had flung it, skin tingling and an ache forming in his jaw. But his eyes burned with tears of anger. He was tired of being treated like this. And he was tired of watching them suffer, Schwarz and Weiß; Ken had suffered for him, and now, he wanted to do something in return.

In a voice that was hardly that of a teenage boy, Nagi said authoritatively to Aya's retreating back, "I'll take you there."

Weiß stopped, practically hidden in the shadows. He turned about, gazing down his long face on the boy who didn't yet brave to meet his violet gaze. Nagi Naoe stood in a soft glow from the light behind him, looking all at once angelic and dangerous in his youth. Finally, he lifted his head, and in his large midnight-blue eyes reflected the power of Schwarz. It was a challenge.

"Where?"

"If you'll let me help you rescue Ken, if you promise not to go alone, I will help you finish the game." Nagi said in earnest, his soft-spoken words, though low and whisper-quiet, a battle cry. "I will take you to the Schwarz underground."

* * *

_Click... Click... Click…_ Their boots tapped, high-pitched, against the solid concrete floors of the Schwarz underground world. Aya had wondered why Nagi hadn't attempted to blind his sight, but the boy seemed unconcerned by letting the Weiß see into the Blackness where they hid in times of crisis. Nagi knew, after this, Crawford would move the location elsewhere. It didn't matter who saw this place now. Of course, there was also the chance that there would be no "afterwards" for Schwarz.

It was a parking garage, left to rot since time forgot. It was stagnant inside the belly, the darkness swallowing the two living souls alive, as if to plunge them into hell's abyss. The old air was frigid, as if winter had already begun here. And there was a feeling within the ruins of stone and metal beams, something that Aya wasn't use to. It was a feeling of power. Of Schwarz. It must have been the very sensation of never-ending sorrow and night, Aya thought, which kept squatters and homeless people away from the building.

Nagi, still carrying Ken's one bagh nakh, led him across the pavement of the ground floor, the blacktop so worn out that no traces of white or yellow paint remained, nothing to signify where, perhaps once, cars moved in an orderly fashion. They came to the stairwell, one for civilians, where beside it an elevator shaft awaited, unused, ancient. A black pit now. But Nagi passed those by and reached for the door where Aya's keen eyes could make out the slight lettering under years of dust and crude: Authorized Persons Only.

Opening the heavy metal door with a hollow grind, Nagi went forward into the black, slim alley that greeted them. Aya could hear a gust of wind being sucked into that way as the door was parted, and instantly it evened out. It was so devastating and lonely. He followed the boy-Schwarz without comment. He could hardly see the boy now, having to wait for his eyes to adjust to the way ahead, a way that seemed to continue to grow unearthly darker.

"Careful," he heard a voice whisper faintly. It echoed deeply as Nagi warned him. Aya knew what he meant by the different tone of his footfalls ahead. Stairs.

They took the metal-grate stairs slowly, having to feel for each one before taking the actual step. The flight down lasted what felt like an eternity, but finally, at long last, they could see a dull, pulsing light, a glow from a single bulb that flickered often, threatening to blow out. The last step leveled out, and Nagi led Aya into a hallway that was freezing cold in the underground tunnel. Wires and drop panels hung loose overhead, and fuse boxes and electrical systems lined the walls. They even passed by the open mouth of the elevator, its last drop. Aya took all of it in, committing it to memory just in case, and just as fast forgetting it until the time came.

Suddenly, there came a high, shrill battle call, and instantly Aya spun, withdrawing his katana in a heartbeat as a flash of white, the glint of steel, announced they had been spotted. Farfarello, his eye alight, seemed to appear out of nowhere, coming out of the darkness where he'd been on watch, and he went immediately at the intruders. He hit the ground in a whirl, spinning one fine dagger in his nimble grip to hurl it at Aya.

It struck the flat of the katana, and Aya charged Farfarello, his rival, killer instincts sounding. With a click, Farfarello withdrew two more blades to parry and counter-attack, and on his feet, the Schwarz psycho was much faster; in battle, the archangel was inhuman. Aya felt the tips of both blades catch his own, hearing the loud ringing echo off the walls, in his ears, as both Schwarz's blades crossed on his katana. Farfarello threw Aya back-

And then Nagi was between them, his expression low and warning. Farfarello stopped, still in a fighter's graceful stance, and cocked his head in wonderment at the boy. His lone eye didn't seem to register anything, no recollection or memory in the least. He blinked. And grinned.

"Hmm," he sniffed, pulling himself to his full height. "Nagi." He bobbed his white head in a greeting. "Seen God while you were away?"

Nagi shook his head slightly. "Only darkness, Farfarello."

"Crawford was waiting for you."

"I know. Where is he?"

Carelessly inspecting his blades, drawing his tongue across each one lovingly, disappointed, the Irishman seemed to suddenly disregard Aya's presence. He didn't even question Nagi's judgment in bringing him. With the current situation, nothing seemed to surprise those of Schwarz in the least. He replied in a clipped tone, "Playing chess."

Aya's brows met, but Nagi nodded, fully understanding Farfarello's manner of thought. Playing chess. His broken way of saying that Crawford was planning something, strategically plotting out his play for Betrüger's current death match. Nagi wondered how he would react at having two more players on the team. Nagi started to move forward down the hall, heading for their dubbed office space, when Farfarello threw a hand against Aya's chest; he shook his head 'no.'

Nagi turned to him, saying softly, "I brought him for Crawford." It wasn't a reassurance or an excuse. It was an order.

Farfarello stared at the boy for a moment, his look entirely dead as he thought on that. Then, he let Aya pass, following at his heels. Nagi waited, allowing Aya to go first after that, putting himself between the two blood-thirsty, older assassins. It wasn't that he didn't trust his teammate, but he knew him better. If Aya just twitched an arm in the slightest, Farfarello would kill him, without thinking first. That's just how the Irishman was. Plus, he thought maybe it might make Aya more at ease. But it proved a bad move for Nagi.

The close proximity of Farfarello walking behind him didn't cause him any worry, until he felt the pale hand draw over his head. Farfarello never once touched a single hair, but Nagi knew instantly what was going through his shattered mind. Nagi wasn't certain what the Irishman would think or do if he knew he'd lost his powers. He didn't know if Farfarello would even understand. But if Crawford found out... Nagi didn't think he could survive the shame of that disappointment.

Farfarello whispered against the dark, so only his fellow Schwarz could hear, "You're different."

Nagi maintained his outside cool composure. Inside, he flinched. "Not at all," he replied in his smooth tone. "Only circumstances are different."

The other said nothing, and Nagi heaved in a heavy lungful of air in relief, refraining from letting it out in a sigh. Next he had to face Crawford and Schuldig.

They seemed to move through the tunnel-like hall for hours, and the occasional light bulb did little to cut through the dark. It was like being in some morbid hospital, or, a better comparison, an asylum. Too turn around, one would see no end; the same towards the way onward. No end, and no beginning. It was chilling and haunting.

Then, as if some phantom had conjured it up, a wall appeared at the end of the hallway; they turned the corner and now before them stood an open doorway. Aya hesitated, but Nagi and Farfarello urged him on by continuing their easy pace. They entered the room to a sight that would have looked unusual on any other given day. Crawford stood in the center of the room, talking casually with Omi Tsukiyono. When they heard the others approach, their conversation stopped, and both looked up.

If Crawford was surprised or relieved to see Nagi, or felt any kind of misgivings upon seeing Aya Fujimiya, he did not show it. He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement that they were there, light flaring off the lenses of his glasses. But Omi's mouth fell open and he breathed out in shock, his blue eyes made even larger.

"Aya-kun?" He shook himself, wondering if the other Weiß member were truly there. Then, overwhelmed, he sprang forward excitedly. Only at the last moment did he remind himself of their whereabouts and who he was about to bear-hug; Omi stopped short before Aya, almost standing on the other's feet, smiling happily. "You're here?" He looked like he didn't believe it still.

"Yes, he most certainly is," said Crawford placidly, but the look on his face was darkly amused. "And so is Nagi." The two reunited Schwarz shared a look, nothing more. "Why have you brought him here?"

Omi suddenly looked worried. "Where are Ken-kun and Yoji-kun? Are they okay?" As the small Weiß asked, Nagi, of a sudden, did a quick scan of the room for Schuldig. He wasn't there.

Aya ignored Omi for the moment, turning to the head of Schwarz and saying thickly, "We came here to help you defeat Betrüger."

"Indeed?" Crawford eyed Nagi, and there was a hesitant look within his amber gaze. But of Aya he asked, "You're here solely for that purpose."

"It is our shared goal. We decided before to work together to end this."

"Yes, we did." As his leader spoke, Farfarello withdrew another blade, getting antsy. "Then it seems you've decided to join us just in time."

Aya nodded his head. "Whatever it takes."

* * *

Nagi stood in the slight room underneath the ancient parking garage lit by a dying fixture: alone, silent. All around him in cases and on wall mounted racks was a small arsenal of weapons, mostly firearms. It was Schwarz's final heavy artillery, the last resort for arming themselves in case of an emergency. Nagi moved his head to look to the side and stared at the wall there. Double doors stared back, a large closet. He opened it, rummaged through, and withdrew fresh clothes for himself, always kept there with other necessities and furnishings. Schuldig always referred to this room as a "treasure box"; besides the heavy fire, he had a full supply of cigarettes stashed in back with Farfarello's spare set of heavy cutlery.

He drew out his pale blue school uniform. Crawford loved to see his prodigy dress the appropriate role. Of course, the school he was required to attend, despite his loathing of classrooms, wasn't an ordinary public facility. It was a school for Schwarz children, a highly guarded secret, though still fully certified. Nagi only went when time and missions allowed. Members of Schwarz who were still in need of learning, or those who had children, were required by the group to send them to those private schools Schwarz established. Kids traveled from all sorts of places to attend them, as they were spread thin. Some children never got to see home again until they gained a GED (which was never recorded to public record). Nagi was lucky that Tokyo was a prime Schwarz hub and didn't have to travel.

Nagi sighed, staring at his uniform hanging stiffly on the hanger. His free hand came up to feel the soft fibers of the green sweater Ken had given him. He hated to take it off, that's what his hesitation was for he realized. But Crawford didn't approve in the least. He could tell by the gleam in his eye, that dissatisfied look of his. And now, Nagi was back with Schwarz. He had to fit the role.

Not so fresh as all that, Nagi stripped off his shirt and dove his head into the musty smelling uniform top, adjusting the high collar against his throat. It was cold against his skin, and it felt like dust; he hadn't been to the underground for some time. It wasn't until after he had changed pants, with the perfect seaming, and began putting on his white dress shoes, that he felt the other's presence. He turned with a heavy eye to face Crawford.

The American businessman stood in the doorway, watching him so completely it made Nagi nervous. _He knows…_ Leaning one shoulder into the doorframe, his glasses catching the outside light so nothing of his eyes were revealed, Crawford said icily, "What happened with Weiß?"

Nagi turned entirely about to look him in the eye. Not for anything reassuring, but because the scar across his scalp would be more visible if he kept his back to the other. "Nothing, Crawford."

Crawford titled his head, black frayed bangs swinging in a mocking way. His glasses cleared, and Nagi saw the suspicion there. Then he strode into the storage room, standing over Nagi with a fatherly air. It was something which always managed to irk the once-telekinetic. "Nothing?" he repeated, trying to draw something further out into the open.

Nagi blinked at him in the soft, languid way of his. Never one for words, especially not when all he could do was repeat himself. He knew Crawford would usually never push the topic, but this time was different. How much did Crawford suspect? Then, the head of Schwarz glanced down at Nagi's feet, who, for a moment, was at a loss. Then he realized he was looking at the sweater from Ken. The sweater he had neatly folded and creased, having every intention to keep it.

The very sweater Crawford knelt down and retrieved off the floor. Nagi felt his heart sink. It was too much like before, when Nagi had thought he could have someone to care about and protect; when Crawford had slapped him and told him to forget about Tot, who returned his feelings, even if in a child-like way. Nagi couldn't help the hurt expression that passed over his face. It seemed he was always watching things he cared for taken from him.

"You're Schwarz, Nagi," said Crawford in his devastatingly chilled tone. "And you're telling me nothing happened with Weiß? You haven't changed?"

Nagi gazed up at him, trying to maintain himself as he always had with the other. He blinked again, and replied easily enough, if somewhat hoarse, "Nothing."

Suddenly, Crawford's right hand snapped out, grasping Nagi by the wrist and jerking the boy forward on his feet. Nagi glared up into the American's face, who was staring down on him in a bemused manner. A long moment ensued. He seemed to know something, Nagi thought, but he wasn't quite sure what he knew. And neither did Crawford, for he was watching Nagi's face as if trying to find some truth there. But with Crawford, all he could do was suspect and assume. It was Schuldig who he had to worry about. But Schuldig wasn't there.

"Of course it didn't," Crawford returned in a low voice, releasing Nagi's wrist. He handed the boy the sweater, and for a moment, Nagi didn't know what to do. So he took the sweater, but held it away from his body like it were scrap. Crawford smiled then, and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he said smoothly, "You'll always be Schwarz, Nagi."

_Always?_ Glancing at the sweater, Nagi couldn't help but to wonder about that. When Crawford had left, and Nagi had felt some of his strength return, he turned to the wall mounts. In his small hand, he selected a slight derringer pistol, something he could hide on his person from Betrüger, also from Crawford. Without his powers, he was at a loss. And he feared letting down Schwarz and endangering Ken. So, with a firm, skilled hand, he flipped out the bullet compartment, made sure it was fully loaded, and snapped it back in with a clatter. He spun it once and replaced the hammer. He wasn't as good a shot as Schuldig, but he could still hit his mark.

For the first time since he had been Schwarz, Nagi was nervous about facing the enemy. He turned to go, but before he did, he hid the hunter green, preppy looking sweater in the very back of the main closet. He would come back for it later.

* * *

_Twang! Crack!_

"Sorry! Aya-kun!"

Aya flung back as something on Omi's wrist flew outwards, snapping open like a shot. The redheaded Weiß jerked away from the boy with a confused, startled look. The expression was short-lived, but one lone brow remained arched as he stared at Bombay, clutching his offended wrist, which had been viciously slapped went the bolt latch released on Omi's - thing.

"What is that?" he finally asked in his smooth voice.

"A crossbow," Omi replied, returning the legs back into place and setting the trigger back into his palm. "I guess I haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet."

A long moment passed between them, and Omi sat back down on the sofa next to Aya. They hadn't been entirely left alone in the office of Schwarz; Farfarello stood watch from the doorway, where he was oddly contorted into the frame, back braced and legs up, looking thoroughly relaxed as he played with a grungy kitten. Aya glanced at the unusual man every now and then, but what struck the violet-eyed Weiß as even more bewildering was the fact Omi seemed completely at ease with the whole situation. At least, for the most part.

Omi repeated, for the third time, "So Ken-kun has been caught?" Aya nodded as the boy-Weiß sunk back into the cushions, looking immensely tortured and worried, holding the bagh nakh the Schwarz boy had wordlessly given him. "What about Yoji-kun?"

Aya could only reply with, "I don't know. He was last with Schuldig." He didn't feel a need to tell Omi that he had been in contact with Kritiker and Birman. After all, Kritiker was suppose to be their enemy. And he certainly did not want to inform the sensitive Bombay of the reported car accident. Right now they hadn't time for wondering and grief. The remaining Schwarz and Weiß had plotted it all out, timed it, assigned stations. They were set. They had a job to do.

"Aya-kun," Omi asked softly of a sudden, his eyes fixed on the Irishman teasing the cat playfully. "What will happen after this mission?"

Aya gazed down on Omi for a moment. The boy had seemed so thrilled to be with Aya again, smiling and overjoyed. But now, he was thoughtfully troubled, and Aya didn't like the reason why. Weiß couldn't change their views because of one job. His reply to Bombay was firm. "We move on to the next mission."

"That's all there is to it?"

"Yes."

That was all there was to it. They both had to wonder about that.

* * *

_Drip... drip... Drip…_ What was that sound? It echoed dimly, like a faint call lost among shadows from far away. It was a crystalline sound_... drip... Drip…_ Then he felt it against his cheek, over his upper lip. Smooth, weightless, and cold. It tingled, it stung. Water? He felt it trickle down his lips, slipping into his mouth, and when his muscles instinctively swallowed on reflex, he felt it burn against his raw throat. He gagged, and the violent, hacking coughs was what brought Ken Hidaka back to his senses.

Wrenching in air, Ken's eyes fluttered open painfully. Blood and sweat streaked his face, blurred his vision, which remained out of focus from spending God knows how long unconscious. He could only lay there, trying to blink his sight back to sharpen on the dismal surroundings. Finally the feeling returned to his body, but it was unfortunate because all he felt was the throbbing, dying pain wash back over him. He rolled onto his side, realizing he had been laying on his arm, now numb, and stared up.

Then he jumped with a breathy gasp when he realized, too, that someone was kneeling over him. He jerked, and tried to sit up, but a familiar female voice said sharply, "Don't force yourself, Ken! You're still too weak!"

He squinted in the darkness and couldn't stop his surprise from showing. "Manx?"

"I'm glad you've finally come around," she said with a relieved smile.

"So you decided to pay Betrüger a visit too, huh?" he wheezed in vile sarcasm, and despite her efforts to keep him still, Ken fought his way to a sitting position. "How long have I been out?"

Kneeling next to him, a small paper cup of water in her hands, she said, "About three hours now. They took my watch, so I can't be sure."

For the first time, Ken gazed hard at her, focused, and though his mind was still reeling, it was clear enough to note she was upset, and highly enraged. A bruise and gash stood out vividly discolored against her pale cheek, only half hidden under her crimson swirl of hair. "What happened?" he asked her in a rasp. He spat out blood, dragging his tongue across his teeth to make sure they were all still there.

Manx lowered her head, trying to make sense of the last few hours. To fit them into the entire puzzle of the last week was even harder. Finally she said, her voice slathered with disbelief, "Akira Yori killed his father tonight. And I couldn't do anything to stop it." Ken gasped, not expecting that news. "The financial head of Kritiker is dead. Now I'm afraid -" she hesitated, as if to say it would make it so. "I'm afraid Weiß is next."

Ken sighed heavily, wondering how exactly they had fallen into this big mess. He said, "Schwarz went underground. After Betrüger got me, they had to take me along to some apartment complex in search of them. No one was there, and it had been completely cleaned of anything besides the ordinary."

"And the others?"

Ken's brows furrowed in thought, trying to think back. "Aya is still alive, I think." He remembered seeing the van explode, just behind Nagi Naoe, but they had drug him away before he could see if the boy had survived. Ken didn't want to think otherwise. Not just yet. "I don't know about Yoji. Dammit! We're all spread over hell and back!"

A dark, brooding moment fell over them, weighing their spirits just as much as the darkness in the room. In that silence, Ken had a moment to inspect their holding cell. It was a big square, stripped bare, with absolutely nothing inside but dust and ancient spider webs. They had cleared it for the specific purpose of detaining someone not meant to be there. Ken had a feeling most of the building, however, was empty. The atmosphere was one of aged loneliness. He glanced around at all four walls. No surveillance camera. The door was heavy metal, and through the frame he could make out a vague line of light seeping through. There was something outside this room, lit, active. He wondered what Betrüger was up to.

"They brought us here," said Manx unhappily, "to lure the others. I hope they're smart enough to stay away."

"Don't worry," Ken assured her in a soft voice, trying to force a smile on his face. His tiny smile was bright in the black room. "They'll think of something."

"I hope they don't come," she said heavily, her eyes large and round, full of worry. "That will only seal their fates."

"This is the final showdown," Ken confirmed. "Whether or not Weiß comes, or even Schwarz, they'll kill us anyway." She nodded, understanding, but still somewhat afraid. "But I pray they stay away, too," he said after a moment. He looked over to Manx and felt his heart tighten. _If only it were just me,_ he thought to himself sadly. But it wasn't. He didn't want to see anything happen to Manx, either. He had to think of a way to save her. Without Weiß. Without Schwarz.

He could only pray they didn't come play the hero. Betrüger, he knew, was waiting for them, whether alone or in a pack, they were ready to spring their trap. He couldn't be certain how well their trap was planned; did any of them have any chance at all? But no matter what happened, after tonight, things would never be the same again. It seemed for Weiß time had just run out.


	20. Zwanzig

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Zwanzig (Twenty)

The warehouse stood like a black shadow against the deep abyss of the night sky behind it; no stars shone, and the moon, as if realizing the turmoil to come, remained hidden by low hanging clouds reeling overhead. It was towards that sinister looking building with no sign of life that he moved. His boots crunched against the gravel drive, coat swirling about his ankles. His sword was sheathed. Aya had no cares at all if they saw him. In fact, he wanted them to. He came to be seen, not to fight.

Trouble would come from elsewhere.

* * *

Nardus watched his brother pace the floor of the anteroom, worriedly; he'd never seen Siem look so flustered and bothered before. He knew quite well why, however. They both had been extremely surprised to find Kritiker's agent, codenamed Manx, sealed in the holding room in the basement. Nardus had practically jumped over his older brother to cast him out of sight, and then throw Siberian in with her. He didn't know why, but he did, thinking it was a good idea to hide the treacherous Kritiker from the pristine one. He assumed Siem wouldn't be going back to Kritiker after tonight, but still he thought it best. And by the looks of Korat, he didn't wish to be seen either.

Siem finally growled in an angry rush, "What the hell was he thinking, bringing her here? Why _here_? He should have killed her!"

"I'm sure she didn't see you, niisan," said Nardus encouragingly.

"Oh, she'll see me sooner or later," Siem responded tartly. "Until she's dead -" Then he stopped mid-step, a dark and bemused grin threatening to show on his face. His eyes twinkled. "Perhaps she would like to face the Kritiker Deceiver before she dies." He suddenly withdrew his gun.

Nardus blinked, and, without considering his words before he spoke them, said, "You'd better ask Akira first before you off her."

Siem rounded on his brother without warning, gun hand raising, and for the first time ever in their lives, Nardus flinched from his sibling. His eyes went huge and glistening, not exactly afraid his brother would strike him, more stunned than anything. Nardus brought an arm up defensively, making an apologetic sound that stopped his brother, whatever Siem was going to do in that heated moment. Neither really knew afterwards if Siem would have actually laid a hand on his dear, baby brother, but both shared a hurt look for a moment; Siem bit his lip sympathetically, rather sheepishly.

But the older brother wasn't about to shy away from the topic. He said in a voice full of fire, "Akira isn't the boss of us, Nardus. I don't have to ask his permission for anything. Anything!"

The other managed a vague nod, stuttering over his words for a second. Finally he said, "But why would he bring her here?"

Siem strode closer to his brother, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Why indeed," he said. Nardus met his eyes, full of understanding and devotion, and the sinister, crooked smile returned to his fangs as Siem said next, "Let us go ask him. And perhaps then, little brother, I will show you why Akira is not to be relied upon."

"Why," added Nardus, "he's not the boss of us." Siem laughed, a whisper soft chuckle.

The brothers made their way to the office at the top of the warehouse, completely ignoring Ikeda who sat at the base of the stairs, tending the wounds he received from Aya of Weiß. The Schwarz traitor watched them with his typical weasely, fearful look. However, they could not simply brush past Heinke, who stood in the halls outside Akira's office, cleaning her gun. She was in their way immediately.

"Did you boys kill Weiß and Schwarz?" she inquired prudently.

Nardus flashed his fangs while Siem answered smoothly enough, "Ask Ikeda. Maybe he could tell you all about his heroic endeavors in throttling Schwarz children."

Heinke clucked her tongue in distaste over the man, neither caring whether or not he overheard them. But she wasn't about to be swayed into leaving her position. She asked again, "Were you able to hunt out any of them?"

"Schwarz went underground," Nardus said, "according to Ikeda. He'll take us there later."

"Why later? Why not right now?"

"Because," retorted Siem hotly in his whisper-soft voice that was now slathered with a mocking quip, "Weiß and Kritiker are in shambles, and we have a Kitten in our grasp. Pretty hard to fight an enemy while taking care of a pet, wouldn't you say?"

"You're a pet, too, Korat," she snapped nastily. "And I heard you bring Hidaka here. You should have asked Akira before snagging a Weiß. The others will come for their Kritiker and -"

Her statement was rudely cut off by Siem, and when he advanced towards her, she immediately reacted - by bringing up her gun; her own distrust of the brother team was so obviously shown. But Siem caught her by the wrist, crushing her fingers against the metal of her own weapon, and threw her backwards. Nardus instantly caught her, his right arm around her neck, threatening to snap it like a twig, the other holding a knife before her eyes.

"You bastards!" she spat at the brothers, her gun cracked out of her grip.

Siem made a pitiable, hurt face at her, then laughed it off lightly. "If you don't mind, Miss Heinke, I'm only going to have a word or two with the boy."

She could do nothing but watch as Siem entered the office. Inside, there was nothing but blackness to greet him. Akira Yori had every light extinguished, and the blinds across the window drawn. Siem stopped just over the threshold, leaving the door open so he could listen to his brother and Heinke, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark of the room before advancing. He heard her protesting the entire time, bitching out his brother, who said thickly, trying to haul her out of the hallway, towards the stair well, "_Tch!_ Quit it, will ya? I'm not gonna hurt you!" His words a sheer contradiction to the blade in his grip.

When he finally saw Akira, he had to blink back his surprise. The boy sat at the desk in a black school uniform, sitting quietly like a shadow. His face was a blank mask, eyes closed, head bowed slightly. One arm he had wrapped around his head awkwardly, braced by the elbow on the desktop. The other held a stained dagger, oozing thick, drying blood, with the tip of it resting against his forehead solemnly.

It looked as if Akira was lost in a trance or some odd prayer; he didn't even acknowledge Siem's entrance or the shouting from outside. His face was spattered with blood, sticky and dull after hours of being spilt. Siem stared at him, and for a moment, he hoped the boy would simply drive the dagger into his own skull. _End it all,_ he urged silently, _and save me the trouble. _

"What the hell happened?" he suddenly heard his brother inquire behind him, knowing that he failed in getting Heinke away from her post; his eyes were worriedly squinting in at their boy mastermind.

"He killed Takeshi," said Heinke, her voice a mixture of pity and proud wrath. "Where all of you _boys_ failed to carry out the act, he himself has ended it all."

Siem arched a brow. _The head of Kritiker is dead then?_ What a stroke of luck for his brother and him. A devilish light sparkled in his eyes. That's all he needed to know.

"You should have killed Takeshi while you were at the Tower, Siem," she continued to drive it in smugly. "You could have prevented this entire mess."

Siem turned about with a casual air, asking smartly, "What mess is that? Do you fear Weiß's vengeance?"

She hadn't the chance to answer when a soft, sad voice whispered deeply from the darkness behind Siem. "It is far from over. We must prepare to welcome Weiß." Everyone looked into the depths of that darkness, trying to distinguish one shadow from the lot; Nardus released Heinke. "There's nothing to fear from their vengeance," said Akira.

Heinke answered quickly, "Yes." But the brothers looked upon the frightening child in disbelieving awe as Siem said, "Do you have a plan, Akira? What will you use Manx for?"

The eyes suddenly appeared in the darkness, the white showing all around like an animalistic predator on the hunt. "I don't have plans to use her for anything, Siem-kun. Whatever Weiß wants, they will try for. But they will fail. She will simply fall with them. They are, in a way, her brain-child after all."

"Puppets," Heinke agreed. "But they will fight hard for her."

"As well as for Siberian," muttered Akira heavily. He met Siem's look - a look in Korat's gaze that said, _Damn! How do you know so much, brat?_ Then the boy grinned, madly, in a wolfish way. "We are ready for them."

Siem and Nardus shared a look, while Heinke smiled. Siem was about to ask what the Devil's son had in mind, but suddenly he didn't have the opportunity when Akira said violently, "Everyone go!" The dagger against his skin slipped, but wasn't pressed enough to draw blood; the boy knew how to handle the weapon - it was himself that Siem questioned his ability to control, especially now. In a more level tone, Akira said, "Places, please, before the curtain rises."

Korat arched a long brow at him darkly, but suddenly they heard Ikeda's distant voice say thinly from the base of the stairs, "We've got company!" A scared, yelping sound followed, cracking his voice, as if what the traitor had spied made him incredibly nervous.

The members of Betrüger turned about, and Nardus and Heinke moved to the foot of the stairs to look down to where Ikeda sat at their computers and monitoring station, watching the surveillance. Siem's level eyes were daring and wicked, never moving his gaze from the boy mastermind. Akira stared back at him, but his focus was lost. It was as if his past events left him a shattered soul peering out on the world. He was sad, and even more dangerous to them.

Siem's eyes narrowed as Akira smiled. "What's so amusing?" asked Korat.

A tiny chuckle escaped the boy's lips, a sound much like that of Farfarello of Schwarz. His young eyes widened happily, and Akira answered, "He's come."

* * *

Shrouded by the night, wearing it as if it were a cloak, Aya moved like a ghost in the darkness, his white trench surrounded by an aura all its own. He looked every bit as deadly and handsome as the fallen angel he was. Silently he slipped towards the Betrüger warehouse, and when his boot did crunch a pebble, he did not flinch. Let them hear his approach. He came to be heard.

For a moment Aya stopped beside the building, gazing up at the high front, scanning the façade for any other ways in or out. There was another door around the side, he recalled, but it had been boarded up. And if someone perchance was breaking through that barrier of wooden planks, they were doing it noiselessly. Aya's hard violet gaze lingered on a familiar window, and he wondered if Akira Yori was standing there, watching him, waiting for him. Lifting his face to the cold autumn air, Aya moved to the rear entrance, next to the folding garage doors.

He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Before entering, Aya checked his watch. It was close to two thirty in the morning, and he had less than two minutes to go in and make his case to the Deceivers. He wasn't use to stalling; Ken or Yoji were better at mouthing off and chattering away. But as it stood, he was the only Weiß left to try and free Siberian. And they needed him back. Nodding to himself, he shook his sleeve back down and entered the Betrüger headquarters.

The door creaked open slowly, like some bad B slasher film, and Aya stepped inside, his boots echoing heavily through the open, vast space. Lights were scarce, but the overhead fixture panel was bright enough to cast fake sunlit rays over the familiar scenery: the members' cars, radio and computer equipment, and the staircase to the executive level where Akira's office sat. Aya felt an impulse to take those stairs, to draw his katana and end it all in that office. But he held back, with an effort. That was not why he came here.

The air inside the room was hollow, it thrummed through the open space like wind over a canyon, haunted and driven. Aya scanned the room, waiting. He needed someone to approach him first; he had no time to go in search of them. Then, he heard the yanked snap of a pump action rifle, and he knew they were there, lurking in the shadows, waiting as he was. Aya pulled himself to his full height as Nardus emerged from the shadows behind him, where he stood guarding the door.

Aya felt, by the stir in the air, the Betrüger with the fanged smirk raise the double-barreled muzzle to the back of his head. But he said nothing. Instead, the sound of tapping footfalls announced the approach of another member, and Aya watched Siem, codename Korat, come from the halls above. He stopped casually at the top of the stairs, gazing down on Aya as if he were some amazing, rare find. A gun was in his hand, held loosely at his side. He looked frustrated at being detained from whatever he had been doing previously; it seemed Aya had interrupted an important Betrüger meeting.

"What do you want?" asked Siem bored from the top of the stairs.

Gazing up at Korat and walking further inside, past the sibling whom he ignored, Aya said in his hard voice, "You have no business holding Siberian. I've come to take him back."

"Is that so?"

"Where's Akira?"

Siem's face darkened, as if Aya had just told him flat out he was of no importance. He snapped in a growl, "Why have you come here armed and alone? A foolish move."

Aya caught the slight mocking tone, and knew they suspected he did not come on decent terms. But he didn't count on being believed. So, to enunciate his intentions, Aya undid his sword belt and tossed his katana to the ground. He said pertly to the once Kritiker agent, "I came to talk."

"Heh," laughed Nardus behind him, his hearty voice echoing. "That's a first!"

Siem too wasn't easily swayed. "To talk? Is that all? And I suppose you would like to discuss giving your member back and sparing all your lives. Is that correct?"

"No," said Aya, his eyes fixed with a lethal air on the brother above him, "I came to discuss different terms."

"What's that?"

"If you'll release Siberian," said Abyssinian, "then I will surrender myself to you, and help you hunt out Schwarz."

* * *

The way inside had been easy. Things were quiet. And as the cliché went, everything was just _too_ quiet; nothing was ever that simple, especially when going up against the Deceivers. They had no idea of what to expect from the other side since neither of them had been in the thick yet. Now was their chance to see how good Akira Yori's gang actually was.

Omi slipped out of the room and back into the air duct he had come from. It was fairly ironic, considering things felt exactly as they had the night of the mission at the charred Taro plant. They had been set up, and instincts and bad feelings aside, Omi hadn't even an inkling of what was to follow now. That night had been a total failure for Weiß. Would tonight be any different? _No! It has to be different! Schwarz and Wei__ß__ have to succeed! _

Crawling silently through the duct, pushing with his elbows to avoid triggering the weapon Crawford had given him, he came to a gap overhead. There was a section of the grate above his head where it split wide, and he rolled to his back just before it, spot checking. And when he heard the muffled tap above him, Omi nodded. He slid towards the opening, grasped the side, and was about to hoist himself up when a hand suddenly caught his.

And Nagi Naoe appeared, crouched in the nook above him, helping him inside. He was dressed in a pale school uniform, but still he seemed to blend in with the surroundings, silent and lost, ever the shadow of Schwarz. Omi accepted his hand, pulling himself into the small section of beams and electrical wires. It was like being in a cubby hole, an attic hideaway that only the contractor or a maintenance crew would ever know. The odor of the old warehouse was stale and dank, like ancient wood; the dust weighed the air, making their lungs feel heavy. Yet both of the boys gave their surroundings no mind, ready, waiting.

Once beside Nagi, Omi smiled. And gave him a thumbs up. Nagi didn't respond. He just blinked. Omi wasn't quite sure, but he thought that was as close to a nod of understanding as he was ever going to get. This member of Schwarz was still so mysterious and strange to Omi, and he couldn't help but to stare at the other boy, not at all use to his attitude as the others. He couldn't help but to wonder about the calm Schwarz; he seemed completely different from the other heads. How did he fit in? Where was his place with the group?

And then he would remember the odd force, like an invisible wall, that the other could create. The power that had thrown him against a stone pillar with such crushing force - Omi could recall that pain so vividly, it was something he never felt before. The feeling of being lifted and smashed like he was nothing at all. Nothing, yet strangely something. He could never describe it, the power of Schwarz. Yet now, he dared to accept it.

After this, though, would he ever know it again? _On to the next mission, Aya-kun said. But does it have to be that easy?_ Omi hated to question the situation, but he didn't know anymore.

He didn't know if he could fight Schwarz after tonight...

Suddenly, Omi saw a different sort of expression in Nagi's eyes, a questioning light, and he realized the other was wondering why he was being stared at. Omi shook himself free from his thoughts, and whispered, "Where?"

Nagi motioned with a brief flick of his head towards the west end of the building. "Aya moves in from the east. Basement holding room. We move in from the west."

_And we meet dead center._ Their statements were short and quiet, but enough to understand the other. Keep it fast and silent. This was a time of action, not for conversation any longer. They knew what needed to be done. Now it was time to do it. Less of a chance for the enemy to catch on.

"Can we get there?"

Nagi nodded his head and turned westward. Before following, Omi glanced at his wristwatch on his left arm. They had five minutes. He lifted his compact embossed on the cover with a white cross and flipped it open, timing it perfectly. Waiting. Five minutes.

He pressed the red button with a soft _bleep_.

Starting now. And he followed after Nagi. Time was now passing, and they had to keep pace with it. Bombay had started the mission.

It was so different working together with Schwarz, he thought, watching Nagi's back. He had to trust them, trust that they would work smoothly and quickly to get the job done. He could only do his part, believing that everyone else would be successful with their ends. Without hesitation, Omi knew that he did; he trusted Schwarz.

They slipped, half crouched, through the cove in the ceilings above the warehouse rooms. Nagi led him over a rail, and under them Omi could see the lattice beams for a drop ceiling. They had no blueprints for this place, so he could only guess which rooms they were passing above. Shimmying across the beams easily, both small, nimble boys crossed towards the opposite end. Nagi lifted aside a loose hanging grate and wire, broken piping swung overhead with cobwebs, and held it nicely away, out of Omi's face as well. The Weiß-boy smiled gratefully, but didn't receive anything in return. But he knew enough not to expect it.

For a vague moment, Omi thought he saw something in the boy's eyes, something almost familiar. It was as if Nagi was holding back from something, some small part that wanted to be like Weiß. There was a flicker that reminded him of Ken, boyish, charming. But he masked it well, replaced it with the Blackness. And, sadly, the Blackness was more comfortable for him, better suiting. Nagi was more of a killer than Omi, no matter how much they wanted it to be otherwise. They could only be what they knew. And Omi knew the kindness that Nagi never did; but for the sake of the mission, it seemed he tried to pretend he knew it.

_Two young killers,_ Omi mused sadly to himself, following Nagi onwards. _But what is it that separates us?_

Nagi motioned silently, placing a long finger over his lips. Omi nodded in understanding; they were leaving their interior shell. It was time to stop hiding and time to face the world of Betrüger. They scrambled into another section of the main duct line, their weight making the old aluminum siding groan under them. Nagi crawled ahead, checked the line of sight into an adjoining room, and without waiting, lifted off the panel.

But suddenly, with the weight of two bodies now and not just one when Nagi had tested it, the duct gave way, the rusted bolts snapping. Omi gasped; Nagi lost his handle on the grate cover, the steel bars clattering to the ground inside the room ahead. They felt the whole line start to dip inward, ready to completely fall in on itself.

There was a loud moan as the pipes folded in towards the added weight, and Nagi was thrown against the side, trying to keep himself from being pitched into the outer room. Omi, on the other hand, was violently dropped as the beams under him gave. And with the smooth duct, he had nothing to grab on to.

"Shit!" Hearing the heave of the bolts, he leaped towards the wall. The frame where the bolts broke from began to crumble with it, aged wooden poles crumbling like so much rotted shavings. If he fell with it, he didn't know what would happen, where he would fall; but he didn't want to chance it.

As the duct toppled in on itself, spewing remnants of the frame and support lines, Omi slid against the wall, feeling his balance going. And then he saw Nagi's outstretched hand, snatching it instantly as the crashing weight of the pipes caved in. Together the two boys fell into the new room, landing in a tangled, dirty pile on the bare concrete floor. From the open mouth of the grate, now covered and spilling darkness, a cloud of dust and wood-bits flew out, like a burst of smoke from a chimney. Nagi shielded his eyes while Omi rolled to his stomach. In a few seconds, everything was calmed; bolts continued to crack, but the weight was off the duct.

Omi released a sigh of relief, but Nagi closed his eyes to listen to the darkness around them. If they hadn't suspected someone else had come with Aya, now it was definite. He opened his navy gaze when he felt Omi lift himself off him; he hadn't even realized their arms and legs were intertwined awkwardly, Omi's face half buried in the crook of Nagi's neck when he rolled.

Waving his hand to fend off dust and grit, Omi smiled sheepishly and whispered, "Sorry." He thought to thank the Schwarz-boy for helping him, but if Nagi was anything like the others, he wouldn't want to hear it.

Nagi merely shook his head as if to say, 'forget it', and pulled himself to his feet. Not even bothering to dust himself off, he slipped quickly to the door. Their eyes were focused into the dark, dechipering every single shadow, everywhere where someone could be. The room was clear. Nagi quietly opened the door into the halls outside, leaning out, Omi looking over his shoulder.

Safe to move. They had less than three minutes now. From the west end, they moved towards the center of the warehouse. Their small, booted feet barely echoed off the walls, though Omi felt slightly ashamed that his footfalls were louder. How _did_ the boy-Schwarz remain so silent? They came to a cross section, and both boys scanned the hallways ahead. Suddenly Omi jumped, turning his head down the right.

_What was that?_ He thought he saw movement. Brief, out of the corner of his eye. Not the darkness playing on his mind, but the flash of someone moving about. Quickly. Could someone be watching them, hiding? He could see the twists and turns of multiple halls, multiple doors, any number of places to lay in wait. Omi hated to chance it at this point.

Nagi gave him a questioning look. In response, Omi flicked his eyes down the way. He whispered softly, "I thought I saw someone." Both were instantly on alert. They shared an understanding look, and turned right. Better check it out, especially after that near disastrous display.

Leaning against the wall, they moved lightly on, slipping as if nothing more than extra shadows on the painted plaster and tiles, Omi leading. The tension that suddenly griped them was heavy, so thick that Aya could have cut it wide open. It grew, the tightness in their chests, as they steadily continued on. Something was definitely wrong now. A bead of sweat dribbled down Omi's face as he brought up his arm halfway, prepared; Nagi smoothly braced himself, not at all showing his unease, waiting.

They heard it first. A footstep. But it was difficult to know where it came from, echoing off the shadows, filtering through the halls. Nagi looked behind him, Omi point-checked the way ahead. Nothing. Yet. They could hear each others' breathing, raspy, throaty, restrained behind closed lips. They could hear air move, as if the night had been given a voice all its own. And then they heard it. A ticking sound. Not distinct, hardly a faint tap. But steady and constant. And as they ambled on, they found it - the opened door.

Then they saw the lights, red flashing numbers. The countdown. Both boys gazed into the room in shock. They had suspected a trap, but Omi was unprepared for a repeat of the previous mission. "Damn," he whispered.

It was the same explosive device, a bomb set to go off in twenty minutes. Professional. Too professional for the boy whose devices were only capable of disabling a fuse panel. He had failed to stop it before. His shoulders slumped with disbelief, aim lowered to the ground. He pulled down his goggles and peered into the room. No laser triggers this time. That was a plus. He hoped. Or it could be a bad sign...

"I don't know," he muttered aloud. Nagi looked at him.

"Can you disarm it?" he asked.

Omi entered the room cautiously, keeping his goggles on with its infrared awareness, just in case. He swallowed, and Nagi heard it. They all had prepared for a trap, but still, the memory of the previous time still fresh in his mind, Omi wasn't sure. He knelt before the device, a good five inches away. He shrugged his small shoulders dumbly.

From inside the doorway, Nagi said evenly, no real trace of any emotion, "We don't have time." Yet in his eyes shone his worry, for their plans, for Schwarz, and especially for Ken.

And suddenly, a husky female voice said from the shadows behind them, "Looks like I get stuck babysitting!"

Omi and Nagi wheeled about to face Heinke.

* * *

Both Manx and Ken leaped out of their skins when they heard the hollow, metallic crash from the inner realm above their heads. It was distant, a dim pounding of air and noise from the layers of walls and panels, muffled by thick concrete and metal pipes. Distant, but still near enough to be inside the same building. Ken closed his eyes and swore to himself. _Dammit, guys!_ he growled to those who couldn't hear his thoughts. _Why? Why do you all have to be so rash!_ Why did they have to care so much? But he knew, when all was said and done, he would have done the same thing. As Weiß.

Manx turned to him, and by the expression in her eyes, he knew her fears were justified as well. "Those boys," she chided softly, like scolding a child. She shook her head, but a sad smile made its way to glimmer across her red lips.

Ken lurched to his feet. "But," he said hoarsely, aching, "we have to find a way to help them." He moved, partly stumbling, to the locked and bolted door.

Manx rose as well. "Ken, what -"

She stopped her tongue when she saw his brows knit, and a finger lifted to his lips to hush her so he could listen. Someone was coming. Outside the door he could hear it, the deep taps of footsteps. Two - he could distinguish two people approaching. He set his stance, bring his fists up. Two people. Those brothers?

They came closer, and Ken heard the sound of a gun being drawn from a holster - off the shoulder, by the sound of the slight elastic snap, the fabric-brush of a jacket. He braced himself, hoping for a clean aim for the first person to enter the room. He thought about using the door as a weapon, to smash the first and block the second's attack, when suddenly his thoughts were scattered by the sound of someone whispering. It was a familiar, sharp _hmm!_ comment, amusedly frustrated. _What the hell?_

And then the level, dead tone of Farfarello quipped softly, "Knock, knock."

Ken pulled back with a restrained sound, stunned, thinking again, _What the -?_ Manx's eyes were showing white all around, her lips parted in an aghast manner. She looked to Ken with a quizzical expression, and he shrugged in return. Then they heard the deep, resonant whisper of Crawford.

"Ken Hidaka, I presume?"

Ken blinked, then shook himself free of his complete amazement. "Yeah," he said through the door's thickness. "How did you get in here unseen?"

"Tricks of the trade, my dear boy. I'm sure you know all about those, so let's dispense with the small talk."

"Where's Aya?"

They heard Farfarello check the bolt and lock of their prison door as Crawford replied, "He is currently busy, I'm afraid. As is your chibi."

_Chibi? He means Omi!_ Ken felt his heart skip a major beat. The relief and happiness that washed over him, knowing Omi was free and safe, made his knees weak. But then he realized while Omi was finally free, they were all of them far from being safe. As long as they stayed here -

"Get us out of here, Schwarz!" he called to those on the other side of the door.

Crawford guffawed. "Why do you think we're here?" Ken couldn't stop his shock from showing in a ragged gasp. Schwarz and Weiß working together. Who deserved credit for that miracle? "Who has the keys, do you know?"

Ken snapped, darkly sarcastic to the Schwarz, "How should I know? Forgive me for being unconscious." He heard the quiet chortle from the American.

Manx said prudently, ever the voice of reason, "There's not enough time to hunt out the keys."

Beyond the door, Crawford was already prepared with an alternative. Snapping back the bolt on his automatic, loading a fresh bullet with a metallic jerk, he straightened his arm and aimed the muzzle precisely on the center of the lock. "I'm quite aware of our time restraints," said he.

Farfarello mused, tilting his white head dramatically to glance at Crawford's wrist watch, "In fact, we have four minutes and thirty-nine seconds."

"What?" Ken questioned sharply from inside. What did they plan?

What Crawford said next was a little more urgent. "Please do stand back."

And the head of Schwarz began to pull back on the trigger, but the flash of someone appearing from behind them, a shadow detached crudely from the darkness, alerted him immediately. Crawford's gazed turned, taking the aim of his gun with it. But he had no time left to react when suddenly something swung from those shadows, and smashed into his outstretched arm with a bone-cracking sound.

The metal pipe connected harshly with the bend at his elbow, and his gun was ripped from his grasp with the force. Crawford brought both arms up to defend, but the weight of the metal struck him full on the left side, falling him. Ken called out from the cell as Farfarello, blades ready, leaped forward to come face to face with someone he knew.

Ikeda sneered as he heavily brought the pipe about, smashing it into one of Farfarello's hands. That blade was lost, but the psychotic Schwarz felt nothing as he moved the other to attack with an ear-piercing cry. But empowered by the moment, feeling the adrenaline rush of bashing his once-leader, Ikeda met the attack for once in his life. And gave a low blow, viciously swinging the weapon against a bandage on the Irishman's arm where he had already caught a bullet. That blow buckled Farfarello, who gave a instinctive cry at the impact. The next attack was aimed for the head -

But Crawford's gun went off; everyone jumped. The bullet struck the raised pipe in Ikeda's hand with a flash of spewed metallic flecks. The coward squawked shamelessly, throwing away the weapon as if it had caught fire. Realizing what had happened, he kicked Farfarello against the chest, winding him, and rounded on Crawford, supporting himself against the wall as he found his feet again. The look in the Schwarz leader's eyes was itself enough to spill blood as he glared upon the traitor.

"How's it feel, Mr. Crawford?" sniggered Ikeda nastily; his eyes were crazy and eager. He gave no hint he even knew the other held a gun. But, slowly, as if savoring the moment, he withdrew his own revolver. And aimed it at the American's head. "Does it feel good to be looking up to _me_?"

Then he laughed, the trembling, sure sound followed by the click of the hammer being brought back for a shot. "I must say, I rather enjoy looking down on you," he said full of evil mirth. "This will be the end for you, and I shall be the head of Schwarz after tonight!"

"Never, Ikeda," Crawford growled, his voice slathered with rage that hollowed his resonant voice.

He laughed again, a quick cackle. "Then shoot me now," he warned. "Or else the organization will be mine, forever!"

"Crawford!" Ken shouted from inside the cell, a threatening yet worried cry; why didn't he fire first, dammit?

With that echoing cry, both men brought their guns up - and fired. And suddenly everything broke out into utter chaos as Ikeda's shot hit Farfarello, who put himself in the way. The bullet tore into Farfarello's side, aimed low to hit Crawford who was only half standing against the wall. And Crawford's bullet flew right past Ikeda finding its mark perfectly:

Shattering the lock on the door in a fiery light of sparks.

The broken metal clattered to the floor, and inside, Ken, holding Manx protectively, heard it, blinking in surprise. Crawford would have let Ikeda shoot him in the head just to free him? Suddenly, surprising himself momentarily, he felt concern. Was Schwarz dead? He had to know. Manx and he flew from the room.

Farfarello was trying to force himself to his feet, though his wounded body was fighting him. Crawford was standing beside him, looking up into the muzzle of Ikeda's revolver. Ken and Manx, fearful to make a move, gasped when the head of Schwarz, amazingly, strangely, lowered his own gun.

The traitor sneered thickly, shook his head once, and repeated surely, "Forever."

Crawford's lips tilted up in a crooked smile as light reflected off his glasses in an all-knowing manner. "I think not."

Ikeda gave a sharp bark of laughter. Then his eyes turned to ice. "Die!" The trigger was pressed -

- and a nasal voice countered nastily, "You first!"

The gun went off, aim wide with the bullet striking the wall, when out of nowhere a fist met Ikeda's jaw, throwing him off balance. A leg, spiffed up in black leather pants, kicked upwards, knee striking into the traitor's ribcage. Ikeda doubled over on impact, and with a rush of wild, carrot-colored hair, the butt of a nickel-plated pistol slammed into his spine, throwing Ikeda to the ground.

Standing over him, Schuldig said in a low voice, "No one fucks with Schwarz, you damn coward!" The Cheshire Cat grin appeared on his face. "And this," he said; his foot connected with the man's gut, knocking a guttural cry from his lungs, "is for making me scuff my pants!"

Heaving a harsh breath, Schuldig turned that wide smile to Crawford and Farfarello. He tilted his head and said to the American, "You didn't fire first. Knew I was coming, heh?"

Crawford smirked. "Only a little bit of the future," was his reply.

Entering the room and making a whiny sound, Yoji Kudou said unimpressed, "Why couldn't I get a fancy entrance?"

"'Cuz you're not as cool as Schwarz," responded Schuldig, jokingly serious.

Flabbergasted, Ken gave a startled, "Yoji?"

The playboy Weiß hurried to his friend, saying, "Damn, Ken, you don't look so good."

The other Weiß let out a relieved breath, replying, "Funny, I feel good." And he smiled up at Yoji, thinking how wonderful it was to see him. So many faces, it was nice to be together with Balinese. But the eyes behind the shades were worn and tired, and Yoji looked completely spent. Ken wondered what had happened to him while he was away. He looked a wreck.

_You should see his car,_ said a pinched, smarmy voice inside his head. Ken's eyes flew to the German Schwarz member, who was grinning at him like some demonic cat. He hadn't noticed, but the man had an unattractive gash and sore from his forehead to his prominent cheekbone, clothes dirtied. But he had no time to ponder over the meaning of life as one of Schwarz, or what had happened to Yoji and Schuldig, when his fellow Hunter spoke up.

"How did you two wind up here?" Yoji asked, looking from Ken to Manx with an arched brow; Ken knew he had a sarcastic joke in mind, but that the current situation probably wasn't the best time to share it.

"Can we discuss details later, boys and girls?" Schuldig said, none too nicely, as he assisted Farfarello in gaining his equilibrium.

Suddenly, everyone's attention was drawn to the battered man pulling himself away from the group, using the wall to support himself to his feet as Crawford had done. "Bastards!" Ikeda snarled at no one in particular, glaring at them all; there seemed to be no trace of sense left behind those eyes. He spat at them. And the three members of Schwarz were briskly alive, and to the other three of Weiß and Kritiker, they seemed like a pack of rabid jackals ready to spring on a fallen member of their own, to devour him.

Not sure it was something they wanted to witness, Crawford said heavily, as if warning them off, "You three better make your escape."

"What about Aya and Omi?" Ken said seriously.

"Are they here?" asked Yoji. Crawford nodded in affirmation. "Then we're not going anywhere." Balinese's voice was dead set.

Tossing his gun to Manx, who caught it easily, snapping the bolt with skilled hands, Crawford said, not even bothering to argue with them, "Then move to the center. To face Betrüger. They will be there as well."

Ken nodded, thinking, _This is it then._ He felt ready to face the end. Knowing he wasn't alone only succeeded in making Ken angry, and he could utilize that. This was it.

Yoji said with his typical cheerful good spirits, "Right on! Let's go kick some Betrüger butt!"

"What about this one?" Manx questioned, pointing with the borrowed gun to Ikeda. Her face wore a disapproving expression, but she wouldn't interfere. She knew better.

Schuldig grinned wickedly. "Leave him to us." Farfarello withdrew one of his blades and gave it a caressing, drawn out lick, eyes full of feral excitement, skin a shade paler from blood loss, which had no effect on his desires.

"Go now," ordered Crawford curtly.

The three left quickly, making their way to the center of the Deceivers' lair, and Ikeda screamed, high-pitched, to their backs, "Akira will kill you! He'll kill you all!"

"So," said Crawford's deftly smooth, chilled voice, interrupting the man's loose threats. Ikeda turned to look at those he betrayed, his face a mask of genuine loathing and pure terror, his skin sallow and dripping with sweat. Said Crawford, "You want to know what it's like to be the head of Schwarz, Ikeda?"

Schuldig picked up the gun the Deceiver had dropped, and now sporting two guns, he cocked his head at the man and smirked, the light in his eyes full of lust and a bloodthirsty excitement. Farfarello kept inching closer and closer, the light of his lone eye like a burning orb in the shadows. Ikeda shrank against the wall in fear, a whining, feral sound escaping his lips.

As Crawford stepped toward the man, Ikeda shrieked, "Stay away from me, you freaks!"

Suddenly, the sound of Schuldig's distinct mind voice bombarded his brain, showering it with his gleeful laughter. Schuldig pumped up the volume to that mental ringing, his eyes dancing as he stared fixedly on Ikeda, who clamped his hands over his ears dumbly.

_Foolish ass! I'm in your head! You can't block me out, Ikeda! You know that! You're Schwarz!_ Schuldig laughed again, mocking, and then chuckled deep in the back of his throat aloud. Crawford smirked darkly. Then Schuldig began to taunt Ikeda, saying over and over again in his mind, _Freak! Freak! Freak! Freak! Freak! _

And Ikeda snapped, wildly throwing his arm in no general direction, but it was so swift that none of them had time to react, if they were even going to. The blow struck Crawford upside his head, snapping the whole of his body to the side and throwing his glasses from his face. The sound of their duo lenses shattering against the ground made Ikeda jump. He flung back to the wall with a stunned look, as if he realized what he had just done was extremely unforgivable. The sound of him gulping echoed off the walls.

"Heh!" Schuldig sniffed. Farfarello hissed through his teeth.

Slowly turning his face back around, a small trickle of blood dripping from a split lip, Crawford's eyes lit with a dead fire, the light of which was now blocked by nothing, not hidden behind glass and frames. And gradually, a smile spread across his face, sinister and merciless. "To be Schwarz," he said in a dull tone, "is to sentence yourself to a life of death, including your own. Gifted, cursed, freaks - whatever we are, it will eventually kill us someday." Schuldig and Farfarello smiled at that; they knew it as simply as he did, and they accepted it. "Do you accept your own death, Ikeda?"

The other said nothing, too lost in hysterical fear and the shock of what was to come to rationalize any intelligible thought or comment. Farfarello hissed again, and Schuldig continued his mental taunting. Crawford said softly, "We've accepted ours, we face it every day. That's why no one will ever defeat us. To face your own death, the hour of judgment - how will you face yours?"

Suddenly Farfarello was upon the shivering, cowering Deceiver, ordered with nothing more than the snap of Crawford's fingers. All blades, gleaming edges, he attacked, sliced, tore and gouged. Blood showered the walls, and the God-awful retching sound of Ikeda screaming, wailing, gurgling filled the basement, echoing off the darkness, shaking to the very foundations of the building where no one but shadows could hear it.

Schuldig laughed merrily, and Crawford said to the bloody, beaten, cracked, fleshy mess of Farfarello's creation, "No one betrays Schwarz. And lives."


	21. Einundzwanzig

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Einundzwanzig (Twenty-one)

Nagi Naoe barely had time to react to the presence of the Betrüger woman before she was upon him, coming up behind him in the doorway from the shadows and night. Instinctively, as he always had for a fight, Nagi reached for his powers, and too late remembered they were not there. He hardly had the time to dredge up that horrible memory, to bring his hands up to defend for a style of combat he was unused to, before she struck.

And he felt the sharp kiss of a blade catch him in the shoulder, the metallic peel that tore through his shirt and ripped into his flesh. Surprise took hold of him first; it had been a long, long while since he'd actually received a hit. And with that look in his large eyes, the look that quickly turned into pain, Heinke smiled in satisfaction, her pretty face cast in darkness. Nagi gave himself a mental curse for failing to notice she brought a weapon.

Immediately following her successful blow, Heinke balanced on one toe and kicked out, the large spiked heel of her boot hitting Nagi's small chest, pushing him violently off her knife. He hit the ground, hearing Omi cry out, "Nagi!"

Omi leaped into the fray, bringing his arm up. Before he could do anything, she rotated around, as graceful as a dancer, her heel striking him in the knee; he buckled under. She lifted her blade and sliced the boy-Weiß as he fell. Mostly tearing cloth, Omi felt it sting against the skin of his stomach. He hit the floor hard on his knees, hand coming to his abdomen, and coming away bloody. He glared up at her.

"Is this all you children have?" she taunted, one hand on her hip, blade loose. "I expected more of a fight, even from the little ones!" She jabbed her foot against the closest body, her heel grinding into Nagi's neck, smashing the boy's face into the cold floor; he made a constrained sound, muffled by his hair and the ground. She laughed, sweet and gorgeous. "Now what will you do?"

Omi made an angry sound, lurching to his feet, ready to have at her again, and she brought up her blade excitedly. But Nagi moved first. He thrust a hand, slightly twisted and pained, against her ankle and pushed, sending her off balance. Unprepared for it, she wavered on her feet for a moment, but he used that moment. Nagi rolled and swung his legs out, hitting her in the bend of the knee. The woman fell, trying to catch herself before hitting the floor fully. Nagi jumped to his feet, panting, and reached under his shirt, drawing out his gun, gripping it tightly in his hands, shaking just a bit.

Omi's eyes rounded on him, and in his thoughts, the Weiß member wondered why he didn't use his powers. Heinke stared at him with hard, glittering eyes, mad he had one up on her, her lips set in a firm pout.

But her thoughts were on the same notion. "A gun?" she mocked. "How so unlike the special Schwarz! I thought you were clairvoyant?"

He hesitated, but with an even tone, not showing hurt but a sort of lost pride, Nagi corrected, "Telekinetic." He moved slowly around her, standing before Omi. He said to him in his soft voice, "Disarm it."

"Ha!" Her sharp bark of disbelief didn't stop Omi from turning to the bomb and drawing out his pocket knife, just as he had done the other night. Heinke said, "He couldn't do it before, and he won't do it now! You children have no idea what you're up against! You'll never be able to stop my bomb!"

She started to rise to her feet, and Nagi thrust his gun arm out at her to emphasize she shouldn't move. "You'll die, too," he braved to answer. "If you don't kill us now and get away."

Heinke didn't stop, but continued to rise until she stood at her full height, towering over the teenager, blade still in hand. Nagi tensed. Her reply was firm. "As long as Akira is safe, I'll happily surrender my life. For him -"

And suddenly she snapped her arm back, and Nagi saw the blade flip in her hand, the tip of the dagger in her nimble fingers. She threw it, tilting it off to fly in a spinning arc. Nagi pulled the trigger quickly, but not soon enough. He missed, and threw his arm so that the revolving blade struck off his gun; the edge sliced the butt of his palm, the tip stabbed his fingers; not quite a save, but well enough.

He heard the snap as Omi cut a wire, and suddenly everything seemed to be happening too fast for his brain, overcome still by so much loss, to register. He knew he fired again, and it must have missed by mere inches as the woman advanced on him. Luckily, she was now unarmed. Not so lucky, she maintained a fight well without a weapon. She reeled on her feet, fist slamming into his frail collarbone. Nagi cried out, but made sure to tighten his fingers on his gun. Then he lost all breath, voice cut off, when her knee connected with his crotch.

As he doubled over against the terrible pain, she caught the mandarin collar of his suit and slammed the small boy into the wall. Nagi felt his head hit the wall, smash the back of his skull. Somewhere in his agony, he felt a warm splash as his previous wound was torn back open. Blood trickled down his ear and neck, and matted his hair to his cheek. His head was swimming. He heard Omi call his name. Soon Nagi felt his knees hit the ground, then his chest, as he slowly fell, retching, gasping. It felt like his very brain was bleeding, pounding fire and racing pulse; it hurt, like a hot knife gutting through. It was a struggle to stay conscious.

"Poor little boys," purred Heinke, retrieving her dagger, and before Omi could come to Nagi's rescue, she spun on him, knocking him to the ground with a fist to the jowl.

He hit the floor on his spine, head smacking back next, sending his sight out of focus as he landed next to the bomb, now with several minor wires shredded. Heinke was suddenly on top of him, and he tried to roll, to go for the mechanisms; he was going to set the explosives off.

"No!" Heinke called sharply, her knee planting against his right elbow, bracing his arm down. Then she stabbed the blade, point first, through Omi's out-reached hand, pinning it still. Omi let out a sharp yelp of pain, tears springing to his eyes. Heinke leaned down to the small boy's face, her breath coming in ragged, hot pants against his cheek. She said, slightly rushed with her breathing, "I don't think so. Give it its entire time. Akira is still in the building."

Omi opened his eyes to look at her, thinking it was still possible for Aya to get the child mastermind. Heinke smiled down on him, not knowing his thoughts, and yanked out her blade, placing it to his throat. "Thank you, Omi-kun, for the flowers." And her blade started to cut in; Omi winced.

A gun fired.

Heinke pitched forward as the bullet found its mark in her shoulder, the sudden spasm sending the blade from her hand.

And suddenly the most blood-curdling, terrible screaming filtered up from the basement. Heinke knew it was Ikeda. She gasped.

Omi looked over to Nagi, who was in a bent kneeling stance against the wall, blood oozing down his face and neck. His eyes were unfocused and pained. It had been amazing he hit the target. Heinke leaped to her feet, eyes stunned and spewing rage; she was holding her shoulder, and her face was a morphing mix of stark emotions.

Cursing like a tigress, a hand went under her jacket, and the boys knew she went for a gun. Suddenly, Omi looked at his watch, and let out a gasp. "Time!" he called to Nagi; Heinke's eyes fell heavily to him, then her bomb curiously.

And the building shook from the inside as Omi's bomb went off in the room down the way. Walls trembled with the quake, the windows clattered, and Heinke swayed on her feet, startled. They all felt the violent tremors conducted throughout the entire warehouse. Then all the lights went out. Omi's bomb had taken out the fuses; in the hall behind them, sparks flew from a loose wire that was bewildered by the sudden loss of energy as it died. Heinke turned her amazed look down on the boy-Weiß.

"Anyone who has the Internet can make a bomb!" he said sarcastically. And he went for hers.

* * *

First, they heard the muffled screams.

Then the entire warehouse was suddenly plunged into utter darkness as the walls themselves shook, as if fearing the approach of something dangerous. Siem was forced into a lean, catching himself on the stair railing. His eyes narrowed darkly, and his gaze flew to Aya below.

For a moment, he had no words. Just the seething anger and wicked fire in his eyes, a look so pure it should have been able to strike Aya down where he stood. Nardus' eyes flickered back and forth from the member of Weiß to his over-seeing brother. Finally Siem growled, "It seems your stalling has worked. Bravo."

Aya's expression did not change in the least. He only continued to stare thickly at the man known to Kritiker as Korat, who sneered at him, saying, "But the game's over now. You got him, Nardus?"

"Absolutely, niisan."

"Then check it out; find his friends." With that Siem made his way quickly down the stairs to their systems. He began rebooting the computer controls one by one with their backup, preparing to bring the emergency lights on. Glancing at his brother, he added, "Kill them all."

Fangs were bared, and Nardus nodded. "With pleasure." He slammed the muzzle of his rifle against Aya's back, pushing him forcefully forward, ready to use him as a shield and hostage against his allies. "Move!"

And they started inward through the halls, towards the heart of the Betrüger lair.

Despite moving through pitch blackness over unfamiliar territory, Aya walked steadily, his boots echoing muffled thumps through the halls they entered. Behind him, every now and then, Nardus' feet would bump and scuffle, his pace not so sure. But the gun never wavered. Aya continued on, until they came to the center of the Deceiver's world, the hall opening up into a storage and work arena. To their sides, a pair of stair cases, held up by cables from the high beamed ceiling, both of which led to the same destination of a foreman's office. The glass bay windows of the overseer's office were gone. Winds blew, as if caught in an eternal whirlpool in the vast, empty room. It was here that Aya stopped.

Nardus was instantly alerted. "What are you doing, Weiß?" he growled.

* * *

The computers came on, and Siem gave one last command the final clack of the enter key. The bar code started moving towards its mark, and the lights would soon switch to emergency power. He started to move to the center hall, to assist his brother in blowing away the last remaining enemies, when he stopped. Glancing down at his gun in his open grip, he swung his eyes up the stairs. To Akira's office.

And Siem moved up those stairs, then down the halls. He was not encumbered in the slightest by the darkness. He was used to wallowing in the dredges of the night, for Kritiker and Akira. But now that would all be over after tonight. Never again would he play the lackey.

Siem stood in the threshold of Akira's office, finding the boy standing once again by the window. He seemed more in his senses, but was still mute and brooding. But he heard Siem's approach, and he turned vaguely in his direction, hands clasped behind his back. The boy was still smeared with blood, but the dagger was on the desk, forgotten. He was ready to leave the place behind, as soon as Heinke returned.

"So Aya-kun and Mr. Crawford have come with a plan?" he mused; his voice was immensely like a lost child's, faint and scattered. "I'm truly disappointed." He meant it.

Siem scoffed nastily, no longer caring to hide his distrust and frustration for the Betrüger head. "Did you expect anything else from them?"

"No," he sighed sadly. "But I had hoped. Things didn't quite work out as I had wished. I'll have to learn from my mistakes for next time."

He didn't even see the gun raised in the other's hand. "There will be no next time, Akira."

* * *

"What are you doing?" Nardus growled to Aya's back suspiciously.

Then, with a pop of a light bulb, the emergency blue flood lights flashed on, dimly, the power draining, dying. And Nardus saw.

"Shit!" His exclamation was lost in a heavy gasp.

There before them, standing in a half circle spaced about the room, stood Ken Hidaka, Yoji Kudou, and Manx of Kritiker, all waiting, bathed in that blue-tinted, generated light. Both Yoji and Ken met Aya's earnest violet eyes, their own gazes set in a narrowed look full of fight. Aya made no hint that he was surprised to find them instead of Schwarz and Omi, but he gave a vague, tiny nod, a tilt of his chin.

The voice of Persia's Kritiker, Manx said with firm authority, "Weiß, new targets: Akira Yori and his Deceivers."

The order was passed, and they were ready.

* * *

Drowned in the most unfathomable darkness, more than any earthly night created, Heinke rounded on Omi as he slid quickly towards the explosive, tiny blade in hand. She brought her gun up just as he slipped the edge under a twisted set of black wires. He grit his teeth, and he prayed; he pulled the blade up and sliced the wires.

Heinke shot him, though her aim was not fatal.

The time on her bomb stopped with Omi's final cut.

And more gunfire opened in the same instant, every bullet coursing into her back as Nagi emptied the rest of his rounds in her. The force of the multiple impacts half tore her around, and she faced the young killer with wild eyes. Blood, so red it was almost black, hung from her lips. Her muscles were shivering as her body strained to remain alive. And she staggered closer to Nagi, who stayed braced against the wall, himself bloody and shaken.

His breathing was lapsed and throaty, loud in the sudden silence of the black room, as Heinke lifted her gun with the last remnants of energy she had. All Nagi could do now was throw his useless, spent weapon at her; she could no longer feel anything, not even when the gun struck her thigh, clattering noisily to the floor.

Hoarsely, dying, she rasped, "For Akira." And her finger squeezed the trigger -

The same time Omi pressed his fingers into his palm, and his arm bow snapped out with an echoing force, the violence of it taking the material of his sleeve clean off in a shearing rip. The bolt was sprung, the arrow flew like lightning.

It found its mark in his target, sharp tip piercing through the nape of Heinke's neck until the tip forced out through the front of her throat, skewering her jugular. She fell with a moist gurgle, slowly, dead. Her round was never spent.

There was a long, dull moment, sadness and grief weighing down on the room as the night seemed to pity the life that was lost. And Omi let go of his strength, letting his head fall back to the floor in relief and pain: physical pain, mental anguish. Nagi, back to the wall, felt his legs weaken, and he slid silently to the ground. And then fake, blue lights came on with a whirr of static and electricity. For a time, no one dared to move for fear of bringing the moment back to life. It was heart-wrenching enough the first time, every emotion still raw.

Then Nagi glanced over to Omi, realizing the other boy had saved him. But his appreciation vanished when he noticed how still Omi was, one sleeve torn and tattered off; he lay by the bomb as dead as its maker. He had done it. This time young Omi Tsukiyono had succeeded.

Heaving in much needed air, coughing it back out, Nagi felt his heart sink. "Please," he whispered to the fallen boy. Omi didn't answer him, and Nagi felt hot tears seep from the corners of his eyes. He heaved himself off the wall, and pulled himself over to the Weiß, crawling painstakingly slow. He got close enough to take Omi's hand, feeling the trigger device in his palm.

"Please," he said again. "Don't die. He'll kill me if you die." _Ken would surely kill me if you die…_ He knew how much they all meant to each other, and he didn't want to be the blame for failing to protect Omi. If he had had his powers, nothing of this fight would have ever occurred.

But miraculously, Omi's eyes finally fluttered open, and the boy turned his tired eyes to Nagi. He smiled. "Are you okay?" he whispered to the boy of Schwarz, his tone terribly sad. Yet surprisingly firm.

Nagi made a relieved sound, partly a gasp and a mix of a soft laugh. He said huskily, "Fine." His reply seemed to comfort Omi, who excruciatingly pulled himself up, holding his arms wrapped around his middle.

"Oooh_…_" he moaned in a breathy wheeze. He looked at his side hesitantly, but said, "She hit me, but I think it only grazed through." He took off his cropped jacket, revealing a slanted tear that was already coagulating with blood. Omi tied the jacket around his waist tightly, to stop the current bleeding.

He turned his worried gaze on Nagi, who struggled to lift himself onto hands and knees. Nagi's face was covered with a sickly sweat, and blood was thickening on his against his skin, the wound on his head closing back up. Omi felt a knot in his gut, helping the boy to a kneeling stance, watching his face with concern.

Then they heard a gun blast shatter the blue silence in the halls ahead.

Omi reloaded his bow in a heartbeat and stood, supporting Nagi, who only fell back to his knees. Omi stooped down with him in a flurry, asking, "What's wrong?" His tone was scared.

Nagi swallowed, gulping back the bile that rose in his throat. "I don't feel right..." he mumbled. _What's wrong with me?_ he cried to himself inwardly. Was he dying? It was a strange sensation that washed over him, something he'd never felt before.

Yet still the danger registered in his frantic mind, and Nagi knew they didn't have the time. Ken, Crawford, all of them were in trouble. Omi had to go help his friends - their friends. Schwarz and Weiß. "They need you."

"But I can't leave you like this!"

Nagi laid a hand on his arm, and looked seriously into his eyes. He pushed him away, almost madly. "Go."

At the pleading tone in his voice, Omi nodded. He was worried for Nagi, but he was also concerned for the rest of the team. There were still more Betrüger left to take out; the mission was not yet over. And Heinke's bomb was disabled, so the only threat left was at the heart of the building. He could come back to help Nagi when it was over.

"Take care, and don't move so much," he said softly. Nagi nodded.

Omi stood, watching the boy a moment more, hesitating. Then, sharing one last nod of support with Nagi, he turned and ran from the room, heading through the blue-washed halls towards the center area. And from the strap on his belt, he unhooked what he'd been carrying, pulling forth Ken Hidaka's bagh nakh claws.


	22. zwei und zwanzig

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Zwei und zwanzig (Twenty-two)

Nardus' surprise was short lived, and then his own fighter's instinct took hold. He immediately acknowledged that this would be the last battle, last time; and he had no intentions of losing. They wouldn't get close to him, or his brother. He jumped closer to Aya and threw his arm around his neck, throat against the crook of his elbow. The rifle went to Aya's head. Ken made a move, and he ordered, his head behind Aya's from Manx's line of sight, "Stay! Or he dies!"

To the White Hunters, his threats were empty. Yoji rebuked, "You'll kill him anyway!" And in that instant, a split second that Nardus hadn't expected, Yoji swung out his fist - and his garrote wire shot forth.

It whipped through the air and snapped against the muzzle of Nardus' rifle, and the moment he acted to pull the trigger, Yoji pulled back with all his strength and pent up anger, taking the rifle entangled with the wire back to him. It went off, the massive bullets plunging into the opposite wall. The rifle hit the floor at Yoji's feet. Then Aya grasped Nardus arm and pulled his body closer, to bend at the waist and fling him clear over his head.

Yet Nardus twisted himself enough so as not to smash his back into the floor and get winded. Instead, he hit on his right knee, but Aya felt him move, knew his reaction just the same, and never released his arm. So now Nardus was at a disadvantage, and Aya brought his own elbow crushing into Nardus, almost enough to break his arm. Nardus cried out at the impact to his bone, but his pain quickly became anger. It quickly became a guttural growl of fire and ice.

Fangs bared, he grabbed a fistful of Aya's red hair and head butted the Weiß, hard. Aya's grip loosened enough for Nardus to wrench his arm free, and once on his feet, he kicked Aya in the face, sending him backwards. And then the other Weiß members had at him. Yoji's wire tore out, but Nardus dodged, springing towards weaponless Siberian, who threw a punch. Nardus blocked, but caught his boot to his gut.

He fell back, eyes lit as he glared at all of them. He growled, mockingly, "Hardly a fair fight! Such is your justice, heh?"

"We've come here only to execute Betrüger," said Aya hollowly, as if that logic should quench any meaning or emotion. Nardus spat at his feet to show the extent of his disgust.

"No." Everyone turned suddenly to face Ken, standing tall and resolute against the blue fire in the night. "He's right. This should be a fair fight." He strode closer to Nardus, his eyes narrowing to a challenge. "Then fight me, and only me."

Manx and Yoji looked at Siberian questioningly, as if doubting his senses; to fight Betrüger alone in his current state was not such a wise decision. Yoji clicked his tongue quietly, while Aya eyed him in a judging manner, weighing Ken's abrupt brash idea. But none of them said a word, because the Hunter's fire waved in his eyes. His challenge was already set, mind made up to be the one to take down Nardus. They backed away.

Nardus chuckled, close-lipped, then flashed his pointy incisors. "With pleasure," he said wickedly, taking a fighting stance. To him, this would only be a repeat of the previous fight. Except this time, he would kill him. His brother wasn't there at present to stay his hand; he would kill him this time!

Ken did the same, flexing his knees and his fists, finding the balance at the center, weighed by his fatigue and throbbing muscles. He wasn't quite certain himself at how well this would work out, but he'd be damned not to try. He thought about what had happened these last few days, what he would give to see Omi's face once more. It had been so long because of Betrüger. And because of them, he also now cared about a Schwarz. What they had done to Nagi Naoe, for everyone... After all that was given, everything he'd striven to do, this was ground zero now. It all came down to this. _I'm better than him. I have to be! _

And Ken leaped into action, the one to begin the fight. With a fierce cry, Nardus rose to meet him, catching Ken's fist against his wrist, the blow coming awfully close to his face. His knee came up for a kick, but Ken pushed closer, not giving him the room. His knee hit against Ken's leg instead, but Nardus' knew the blow was stalled, and flung his fist. Ken parried, and his knuckles made it through Betrüger's defenses to punch him upside the head.

Nardus fell back, but now had his ample room to turn and kick, the straight of his leg hitting across Ken's face, sending him off balance. Ken caught himself on his knees and Nardus was upon him, a sharp toe to his side. Siberian rolled off that foot, and away; he had to stay on his feet. Back to his height, Ken swung at him and missed. He was never going to be able to beat Nardus as much as he wanted, not in his state. _Bastard!_

The others never interfered, but occasionally Manx would flinch as she watched what seemed to be a violent, free-for-all battle. Aya and Yoji remained silent and cautious; ready to pounce at a word. Their chance came in an unfair way, when no one noticed Nardus' hand slip under his long coat, to come out with a strap and buckle. He squeezed his fist, and the hiss of steel came forth, a fresh blade upon his talon. He was waiting for this moment!

The talon glistened, enough of a warning for Ken, whose eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. _Shit! That's cheating!_ He was still without anything to fight with. Ken slid backwards on his toes but fell away from the blade, tottering and rounding away from Nardus, whose attack went by. Nardus stopped and hastened to turn back to him, but of a sudden, a voice sheared through the fighting, to echo through the room.

"Ken-kun!"

Omi's fearful cry was enough to startle them all, but Nardus' hesitation was fleeting, and he went for Ken, whose gaze lingered on Bombay, bewildered slightly, and extremely happy to see the young boy. Suddenly realizing he was targeted, Ken made a quick sound and dodged. And behind him, Aya acted, watching more of the unfair fight now than he could tolerate. Aya moved to Omi, who came to meet him, for the exchange and more. Ken immediately saw what they were doing; he moved away from a blow.

As Omi neared Aya, his eyes pointedly met Ken's, and he threw, under-handed, the bagh nakh to Siberian. Ken ducked to catch it, slipping it on in a pounding heartbeat as he rolled off his shoulders and back onto his feet. Aya's hands flew under his trench and his fist came out with a handful of darts, which he gave over to Omi, who took them - and the support of Aya's knee. The lithe boy leaped off Abyssinians' knee and into the air, where he positioned his darts, and with a dramatic move mid-flight, like a human cross, he sent them showering down around Nardus.

He tried to spring out of the way, but one planted its single sharp tooth into his breast bone. With an angry growl, he tore it out, then heard the raging battle cry of Siberian. Nardus turned and saw the claws tearing at him. He brought his talon up. The blades met in sparks. Now the true battle began.

With fearsome precision and deadly grace the two tigers met in the heart of the building, blow after blow they tried to kill each other, and the others watched the thunder and fire in awe. The night itself shook and trembled. Omi stood beside Aya with large eyes, intensely watching every move Ken made, mesmerized, but afraid; he hadn't seen Ken in what seemed like forever, or Yoji. He didn't want to lose everyone now. This night was amazing, it was like Hell.

And it was about to grow darker in the abyss. In a heartbeat, pumping like a raging river, everything seemed to happen.

Suddenly, Nardus leaped at Ken, and their blades met overhead. And with his one arm raised, the talon angled up, Nardus' left fist came in and grabbed Ken by the collar of his shirt. Siberian made a startled sound at the foul move as Nardus drug him away, throwing him against the ground, their blades careening off each other with a high, shrill slicing sound, a deadly song.

"Ken-kun!" Omi darted forward as Ken hit the ground under Nardus' boots, but Aya held him back. Manx acted, however, and brought the gun up that Crawford had given her. Yoji couldn't stop her before Nardus saw, before Nardus reached at his ankle and drew out a small pistol hidden there. Talon over Ken to still him, he fired at Manx; Yoji saw him move first. In that heartbeat, things where a whirl; it all happened so fast.

"NO!" Yoji jumped in front of her, and the bullet took him instead, plunging deep into the right side of his chest, below his shoulder. Manx let out a quick scream. The gun blast sounded, and she thought instinctively that he was dead. Omi and Aya reacted instantly; Nardus grinned.

And then he dropped to one knee, bringing his arm back for one final, glorious stab to Siberian. "Die!"

The room was in an uproar, and it seemed no one knew what to do or whom to be fighting, but as the talon tore through empty air towards Ken's chest, he rolled, hitting his side against Nardus' leg, like a barrier, and the blade hit dead floor. Ken lifted his knee against Nardus and pushed with all his might, sending him away; all he could think about was Manx and Yoji, if anyone had gotten hurt. In a flash they both started to stand, but not before Nardus struck again. Ken took the blade off the top of his shoulder, where it sunk on edge into the muscles and skin, slicing some meat off his body. He cried out in agony, feeling his own flesh peeled from his bones. Grinding his teeth, he brought his claws up, but Nardus caught his wrist.

And the moment was broken unexpectedly, when the sound of metal hitting the floor echoed off the vast, hollow room. And they turned to look at the new presence, at the sudden sad, strange scene. Omi breathed a word in shock. "Nagi-san...?"

Nagi Naoe stood there, arms limp at his sides, his eyes closed. Blood and sweat stained his young, pretty face, and he just stood there, mute. At his feet a gun lay, his gun, where he had let it fall forgotten from his loose fingers. Weiß and Nardus stared at him dumbly. And Ken gasped, wondering where he came from, why he let go of his weapon and now having no way to fight back. _He'll be killed!_

Nardus glared at him, then tore the talon out of Ken, who fell, now utterly in physical and mental shock. "_Heh!_" snapped the Betrüger, who rounded on Nagi and lifted the pistol in his hands. Someone would die for him - now! He pulled the trigger before anyone could make it to him.

Ken screamed, "NAGI!"

The bullet tore through the room towards its target with a marksman's aim.

And all of a sudden, the bullet stopped dead midair, as if someone had just froze time and motion itself. The lethal round hung in space, hovering inches from the boy's face, where it should have taken him between the eyes.

No one could describe what happened in that moment. They all jumped, gasped, reeled. An invisible force rose around the boy of Schwarz, a barrier that created some violent wind which touched only the slight boy caught inside it. Nagi's ebony-brown hair whipped about his face like a torrent of flames, the ripples across the fabric of his shirt snapped. No one else felt that stirring.

No one else felt that power. But Ken knew: _It's back?_ Somehow, some way. _He got his powers back._

In a flash, Nagi opened his eyes, and the look of pure rage in their liquid blue depths stared Nardus down. A red glow flickered across those depths, as if flames were alive there. The fire that lit his eyes, it was the fire and light of power, the telekinetic strength of his mind shining through from his revived soul. And then those orbs, afire, narrowed precisely.

And the bullet returned the way it came, shot a second time by the force of Nagi's seething thoughts.

It hit the pistol, striking it out of Nardus' hands, who nervously dropped it in a shower of sparks. He leaped away from Ken, his eyes shocked. His brother had said the boy was useless! How could it be?

Omi stared at the other boy, wondering what significance Heinke's abuse had done to create this sudden rage and stream of power. What had happened over these last few days? Shaking his head, he leaned down to help Yoji up, who was half supported by Aya. Manx was holding him, tears in her eyes threatening to show, to cascade down her cheeks.

Under the din, Aya asked, "Are you alive?" It sounded like his attempt at being sarcastic, to make light of the horrid situation for his friend.

Yoji smiled, then winced. "Are you kidding?" he replied, shades tilted across his face, which Manx set straight for him. "I've survived explosions and car crashes. One lil' bullet ain't gonna kill me!"

"You idiot!" Manx scolded. She suddenly leaned down and kissed him softly, a true kiss on the lips.

For a brief second, he looked stunned. It was the first time she had ever shown any kind of affection towards Balinese, even after all his come-ons and teasing. But then the Playboy Weiß's smile grew, and he said evenly, but seriously, "Hey, Aya! She finally kissed me!"

Manx smiled, overwhelmed, as did Omi, at the happily kidding tone of his voice; they all knew he was being honest though. After all, they had watched his come-hither looks towards her for years. But the eased moment was shattered when a thought dawned on Bombay, who turned to Aya with a hard look. He said hurriedly, "Aya-kun, Akira is still here."

Abyssinian's eyes narrowed in the same manner; the mastermind had to be taken out. Up until now they all had merely assumed, for some joint reason, he had been guarded and removed from the premises. After all, a group must protect its primary head. But it seemed that Betrüger was not as close knit a group as they gloated. Then why was Akira hiding from them? He should be fighting alongside the others, as they were.

Omi held up three fingers; three members left to take out. This mission was already taking dangerously too long. Aya nodded, but when his gaze lingered on Yoji, Balinese gave an encouraging, crooked grin. He said seriously, with Manx's hand over his to stop the blood over his breast, "Go, Aya. Take out the target."

Suddenly, a pinched and German tinged voice said over them, "He's right, Weiß."

Everyone quickly looked up to where Schuldig and Farfarello, hunched and bleeding, stood in the doorway behind them. The German mimicked Yoji's slanted grin. "End it now. We'll take care of the last two."

Aya and he shared a momentary, level gaze, a mingling look that Weiß and Schwarz held a mutual understanding. It was the closest to camaraderie that both sides ever came during a fight. Farfarello inclined his head in a nod, a sickly sweat on his pale face, though his eyes and stance showed none of the pain, naturally.

"Go," Manx urged.

Aya bobbed his head in agreement, and like the night, seemed to vanish, heading back the way he'd come with Nardus as Manx and Omi helped Yoji to his feet; Schuldig was half supporting the psycho, only assisting when Farfarello's body started to weaken of its own accord. Although they seemed full of spirit, both had to get medical attention soon.

Looking over to Schuldig, Omi was unaware that he wore a vague smile, pleased to see the German once more, alive and well. He was unaware, that is, until Schuldig saw his look, and returned the smile with one of his own cocky grins. He winked, and in the boy's mind he said, _You just can't keep a good Schwarz down! _

And that's when it hit Omi. "Where's Crawford?"

But their hurried conversation and impeding worry were interrupted by Ken's sharp, alarmed voice. Everyone turned their eyes to the center of the room, like some grimy, dusty gladiator arena. They saw the trouble, but didn't understand it. Siberian was lifting himself to his feet as fast as he could, watching Nagi advance on Nardus.

And Nardus was gasping horribly, his hands around his throat as his eyes remained fixed on the odd teenager steadily walking towards him. No one but Nagi knew what was happening, that with his newly returned powers, powers that could move objects, he was moving Nardus' windpipe, crushing it in on itself. With the strength of his mind, Nagi was forcing Nardus to suffocate himself. For Ken and the harm that had been done to him, that Nagi had been forced to witness over these last few days. Nagi was furious and it empowered him.

Nardus made a gasping sound, not even able to do that much. He fell to his knees as all living color drained from his sharp features. His eyes were fearful and confused, bulging, veins standing clean out against his skin. It was like watching a fish die out of water, and Ken knew he should feel nothing, nothing at all as if he _had_ been watching a fish - even the fish deserved more sympathy than Betrüger. _But this is wrong._

Ken swiftly rushed to Nagi's side, but he felt the invisible barrier around the boy; he could feel the power around him like a storm cloud, the feeling of energy contained like a very thunderhead striking hell down from the heavens. It stopped him, not allowing him to get close to the boy who only hours ago seemed to want nothing else. It was an incredible sensation, and it churned Ken's gut. He looked at Nardus, who was bent on his knees, heaving and retching. Then back at Nagi quickly. _He can't do this -_ It wasn't for Nardus' sake that Ken felt compelled to stop him.

"Nagi," Ken whispered softly to him, his boyish voice now hoarse and vibrantly deep.

He inched closer and closer, cautiously now, not sure how best to approach Nagi. When he received no response save for a sharp gagging sound from Nardus, his brows knit together. It seemed too much like the night at the abandoned warehouse, when they were truly enemies, fighting until the death. Nagi was alive with evil, solitary thoughts, and they were driving Ken out. And that's what scared Ken the most. "Can you hear me? Nagi? Please."

The winds lashing at only the boy quieted somewhat, and Nagi's voice, full of raw strength, rasped from inside their depths, "He'll pay."

"Nagi, please."

The tender tone in Ken's voice finally seeped through the strange barrier, causing the younger boy to stir free from his murderous thoughts. And he turned quietly, sadly, to face Ken, and that appeared to be harder for him to do then strangling the Betrüger. He blinked, all the remnants of the Schwarz power lighting back behind those eyes; Ken shook his head. He didn't want it like this. _Dammit, not like this. _

"He will," he agreed thoroughly, "but don't..." The look in Nagi's eyes was confused, and Ken himself didn't know what to say, how to express the emotions, the thoughts, bristling on his mind; thoughts that scared him. "Don't do this."

"But," Nagi said, turning his gaze back to the enemy, slowly dying, slowly suffering. "He was going to kill you. I thought you'd want me -" There was a slight hesitation. "You don't want my help?" His eyes seemed to lose some of its light, the solitary child coming once more to surface.

And Weiß watched, mixed feelings of awe and bewilderment, as Ken reached through the shield of energy and threading wind, to take hold of Nagi's wrist, stooping down on one knee, painfully, to gaze up into the boy's face sincerely. Schwarz was even more flabbergasted at the sight as Schuldig made a constrained sound of shock and disapproval, and Farfarello made the strangest _hmph_ sound under his breath.

Schuldig cursed, thinking back to the hit at Tokyo Tower. It seemed Ken had taken _too_ much of a liking to their little chibi. _Crawford's not gonna like this,_ he thought to himself. Then, _If he finds out. _

None of them, Schwarz or Weiß, knew of anything the two shared in that brief moment, or seemed to share; deep within, they themselves couldn't even be sure of what they shared. However, in the hastened moment, feeling the aura of the lashing breeze around him that his powers generated, the power to move even air itself, Nagi watched, slightly shocked and touched, as they locked eyes. There was a pleading sorrow in Ken's that the boy didn't fully comprehend.

"Shhh," Ken soothed almost silently, not wanting to hear the child sink back into his hollow, dark thoughts and self-pity. Even during the battle, Siberian, sporting extended claws tinged with blood - his blood, the blood of the enemy - he couldn't stop his 'big brother' demeanor from rising up to be heard, to defend.

Staring into the boy's eyes, so deep they were like duo wells of profound blue waters, he didn't know what to say. How to explain all the things tumbling through his brain. _If he kills again - here, now - that's it. His powers are back, but that doesn't mean he's Schwarz again. But if he does this, there's no going back._ Ken knew that as sure as he knew his own place. _He will be Schwarz._ And he wasn't sure if they would ever be able to meet again, as they had. And it wasn't for himself he pleaded; he wanted Nagi to experience the life of - not a 'normal' teenager, but at least a happier one. He wanted him to have better, to see him smile again. _If he kills again, he can't ever have that... at least not with me. That barrier between us, as Wei__ß__ and Schwarz, will be back._ Ken didn't want that, he knew it.

Finally, he said gently, "I just don't want you to kill him."

Nagi's eyes finally seemed to convey an understanding, but still there remained a hesitant, unsure air about him. Ken shook his head again, more firmly, to try and sway him. _He won't let it go -_

Suddenly, another voice entered the picture as Schuldig shouted, ever the presence of Black, "Finish him, Nagi!"

Nagi's indignant eyes swiveled to the German redhead, and Ken saw the light of Schwarz fire up in that look. _No…_ He felt a sadness grip him, as Schuldig's voice echoed through the room. _No, don't listen to him._ For a moment, as Nagi stared over to his comrade, Ken had the sinking feeling that he'd been once more closed out. But suddenly he felt the rush, like winds dying, as Nagi let go of his powers.

And instantly after, Nardus fell free from Nagi's grasp, hoarsely swallowing mad amounts of air into his lungs in hollow, loud gasps. It didn't hit Ken until a second after that Nagi had understood, and answered his pleas even with the other Schwarz. He had a moment more to breathe a sigh of relief, to begin to smile up at Nagi, who now exchanged a glare with the German, Schuldig's eyes full of accusations and suspicions, when suddenly:

"I don't think Ikeda will be needing his car now!" Siem said from his perch atop the stairs by the foreman's empty office space, above the chaos and amazement. He triggered the device!

* * *

Aya moved swiftly, the shadow through the halls. He came upon the garage room, turned towards the stairs to the office on the higher flight, where he immediately came upon his katana he had unbuckled and dropped to stall the brothers. With his toe, he caught the guard and flipped the blade into the air, catching it from its tumultuous flight and took the stairs: fast, silent, ever the predator.

Suddenly he felt the haze of impending doom, a sensation of something amiss. Yes, something wasn't right. The vibrating feeling in the room struck him heavily, like a heart attack catching him off guard; he felt that warning instinct in his chest, his mind instantly working to sum it up. He stopped, scanning the parking area below with his trained eye. And saw it.

The dynamite set up against one of the black cars.

He choked back a gasp when the small red light on it of a sudden whirred and flared. It had been detonated. And as it exploded in a fiery blast that sent hot waves of air and debris gnashing at his heels, Aya hit the top of the stairs, feeling the remainder behind him quake, shatter, then collapse. The entire warehouse shook from the aftershock. Shielding his eyes from the fires below, licking towards the ceiling with an overwhelming black smoke gust, Aya had no sense of fear or panic. His mind didn't even think to return to his friends, to flee the suddenly burning building, or retreat in the least.

Instead he turned to face the silent hall ahead, now bathed in a flickering orange sheen, and brought his katana up, thumb under the guard for the release. He was ready. He would kill the target. He stalked his prey, slipping into the dull hallway onwards. And he didn't look back.

* * *

"Niisan!"

The whole of the building rocked with the force of the explosion, as if it had jumped off its very foundation in agonized shock, and everyone was suddenly sent into a heave, pitching in every chaotic direction. Nardus took the opportunity to retrieve his gun, and both brothers rode the tidal wave of surging strength from the bomb as if both had expected it; Siem leveled his gun on the group below, muzzle pointed from one to the other, showing they were all caught in his sights. Ken and Schuldig cursed simultaneously. A flood of heat and smoke churned into the room grossly. It seemed Akira's men had unleashed a part of the Hell he wanted.

It also seemed there was no where left for anyone to run, and there were still two targets left standing right before them. Their odds were ever-changing. Just then Omi remembered Aya, who had left and walked straight into the bomb's path. He inhaled sharply and dove for the exit, now ablaze, with a worried cry of, "Aya-kun!"

But he fell back when Nardus leveled his gun on him. And Siem, his soft tone now heightened loudly over the din, said from on high, "My brother and I don't need Akira any longer. We're finished playing his games!"

As he announced, he lowered his weapon's aim on Manx because of his overwhelming hatred of Kritiker; he started to squeeze the trigger just as a baritone voice declared smoothly, "Not yet!"

Everyone turned to gaze up to where Brad Crawford stood on the grated landing, held up by cables from the ceiling, directly opposite from where Siem stood. His gun was trained on codenamed Korat, whose eyes narrowed viciously at being held in his sights. The head of Schwarz said smoothly, face bloodied, suit array, "The game's not over yet."

Siem laughed, delicately in his level voice. It was a darkly amused laugh, one that caused Nardus some concern; his brother let an anxious gaze flicker on him, both certain and now uncertain in his big brother's elated presence. Though Nardus may have been worried for him, Korat stated nastily, "I see you are without your glasses, Crawford. How ever do you plan to hit me from such a distance?" He chuckled maniacally again. "You're pathetic!"

Siem's aim moved swiftly to Schuldig, and from there he could take out Farfarello as well. The German stood tall under his scope, the careless demon. "Do tell, Crawford, have you seen the future? Can you see your fellow Schwarz members there? I highly doubt it, unless you drop your weapon _now_."

There was a moment's hesitation in which everyone's minds were whirling: possibilities, failures, a thousand and one hopes and plans. Crawford sniffed at the statement, for several reasons. The biggest, though, was for the sole idea that Korat thought he could use others of Schwarz against him. What rubbish! They would all of them be killed anyway. Schuldig and Farfarello waited for the firing to open up, not excepting Crawford to give in to save them. They knew what it meant to be Schwarz. But those of Weiß waited with baited breath, knowing what they would do, but unsure of what a Schwarz would do. It was Crawford's move.

Everyone was astounded, though, in some fashion, at what happened next. The leader of Schwarz made a small, partly amused and incredibly dark sniffing sound. "_Hmmph._" Then the sound of Crawford's gun clattered loudly to the grate metal under him as he released his weapon. Siem chuckled, pleased, and Nardus gave a slanted, fanged grin. And Siem swung his gun and fired at Crawford.

But a moment too late.

Crawford swung his arm forward in a flash, a secured, small derringer pistol flinging from a hidden holster under his sleeve and into his skilled fingers. His hand rose, his eyes narrowed surely, and he pulled the trigger. The shot was a wailing echo which was dulled by the swirls of smoke. Siem jerked, hit. The moment then erupted.

"NIISAN!"

And Omi sprung forward, his arm-bow snapping open to let fly a bolt into Nardus, striking him in the shoulder; Nagi acted, throwing out a hand to summon power against the cables holding the staircase on which Siem stood, slicing every fiber in every cable with nothing more than a thought. And the entire system - panels of steel and iron, whipping shreds of cables, popping metallic links - everything came crashing down with a tremendous roar, shattering against the floor, striking through the mist of smoke and approaching fires. Nardus cringed under the cascades of thick slabs of metal, disappearing in a cloud of dust and debris; everyone backed off, while Ken grabbed Nagi, pulling him back and shielding him.

In the silence that ensued after the thunder quieted, Crawford calmly strode down the stairs on his side of the work area, which wavered in the aftermath, groaning against its support as if it, too, feared it would fall to ruins. He wore a tiny smile, and his eyes, without glasses, shone in total focus. The future?

He knew it all too well.

* * *

Aya stood outside the doorway silently. Even though his boots had echoed off the halls, the drifting smoke had filtered out most of the sound. The bellow of snapping flames filled the way around, thundering and intense. Still, he wondered why he had not seen, nor heard, anything from the office ahead. Akira Yori was no fool. He had to be careful how he approached him for the kill.

He felt the tension in the hall, the rush of hot air that seemed to threaten everyone and everything with its promise of death. But there was something else that hung there, quiet and underlying. It was a sensation of loneliness. Aya wondered why he would feel such a thing in this place. Sorrow. Hopelessness. It made him hesitate. But he had no time to ponder the ways of Betrüger, and he crept through the hall, showing no signs of dread, nor feeling any effects of the scorching heat: quiet, lethal, and entirely ready.

Then he entered the office room, walking into the pitch blackness of its depths, and it was there that he did indeed find young Akira. He was standing by the window, gazing out into the late night, city lights beyond, with his back to the room. Just like the first time Aya had met him. Solitary. Waiting. It seemed as if he didn't care at all the White Hunter had come for him, behind him a blaze of fire, prohibiting any escape or help. If he felt trapped, he did not show it.

It was all too strange for Aya. There was something that just did not feel right about the situation. But whatever it was, it did not matter. Or at least, he knew, it shouldn't. The assassin lifted his blade, still sheathed in leather and woven yarn. And only then, with the hushed sound of his trench coat swirling and the vague tap of his gloved fingers against the hilt, did Akira Yori turn about, scarcely a breath at a time, as if the young man were immensely tired and worn. Slowly. Ever waiting.

Aya saw the white around his large eyes clearly, the color lost to darkness and tinted by the lapping fires reflected before him. The boy's brow was furrowed tightly, as if in thought, and the light in his eyes flickered and waved. Sweat moistened his face, made it appeared shimmery in the night. He was oddly calm. And oddly lonely. The emotions emanating from one so young would have caused anyone else to feel sympathy. But not Aya. He drew up his katana, ready to bring it forth, violet gaze hard.

And Akira smiled. Not a big smile, showing teeth in any kind of joy or amusement, but the tiniest of up-tilted lips, as if he didn't mean to show any emotion, but inside, his feelings were a torrent of mixed sensations, spilling out onto his youthful features. He looked... prepared, but saddened by the fact. Aya, eyes narrowing suspiciously, stood with his stance eased, tip of his blade lowered. He felt like the Betrüger head was planning something, ready to spring a surprise on him, and he wanted to let the boy have the first move.

Silence followed.

At long last, after a great while had lapsed between the two killers, Akira heaved a tremendous sigh, a force of air that oddly shook his entire frame. He seemed weak. Drawing in a new breath, he said hollowly, voice breaking at the end, "I was waiting for you." The smile almost brightened. "I knew you would come."

In response, Aya merely tilted his head. Suddenly Akira took a step forward and tottered; he almost fell, having to catch himself on the edge of his own desk. And it was only then, when his one arm fell away, that Aya saw every reason why the boy seemed different, why the world around him felt different.

Even through the darkness between them, Abyssinian could see the gleaming flow of dark scarlet against the boy's waist, seeping into his shadow-colored clothing and catching the dim light of the fires. Bathed in a fiery glow, Aya could see the black hole in his stomach, where a bullet had entered. Akira had been shot. He was bleeding out. He was dead all ready.

And young Akira Yori knew it, too.

* * *

Nardus couldn't see. The lingering dust cloud which hung suspended in the air blocked out his vision. He couldn't hear above the ripping noise of the fire in the area behind them, couldn't make out any sounds beyond the crashing debris that was finally subsiding. He couldn't feel, not even the ache in his back where the scaffolding had collapsed on him, its great pipes cracking against his spine and bones. He didn't feel that pain.

All he felt was the pain of watching, knowing, that his brother had been shot.

Siem, legs now maimed under the weight of fallen piping and grates, coughed, a tearing sound that jerked out of his chest without warning, and Nardus saw the small glint of red against his brother's lips. He was bleeding internally, Crawford's bullet had shattered an organ. Hot tears in his eyes, Nardus held his brother, leaning his forehead down against Korat's own, listening to his ragged breathing, the pounding of his sibling's blood in his veins, slowing. Dying. He was dying...

"I'm sorry, Nardus," Siem whispered hoarsely, a hand coming to his brother's, shaking. Nardus let out a small constrained sob. "I didn't mean for things to be like this."

"Shhh!" Nardus breathed forcefully, shaking his head. He couldn't find any other words at first, too overcome by the grief he could feel from his brother, from his own heart. The tears cascaded down his cheeks, his fangs bared with the effort to not show his sorrow. His brother... Siem had always been the strong one, the eldest, but now, with the truth like the end of the world itself weighing over them, drowning everything out, Nardus wanted to reassure Siem - reassure himself - that it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

"It's okay, niisan," he finally managed to whisper against his brother's softly chiseled face. "Everything will be okay."

Without opening his eyes, he felt his brother smile up at him, knowingly. Siem's breath, still warm, still alive, drifted against him, as if he had tried to laugh darkly at that, as he once would have, but could no longer manage the simple feat. Nardus heard the rattle of his chest, the force of air his brother tried to hold on to just a little longer, heard it begin to fade with every word.

"Things will be okay?" Korat's voice was so distant now, and had Nardus not been holding him so close, their faces hardly an inch apart, he never would have heard him speak. "Were we ever alright...?"

Nardus sniffed back his tears, and opened his eyes to share a strong look with his older brother. "That's not true," he whispered in reply. "This world never did anything for us. But niisan, this was what I wanted, too. I never wanted anything else."

Siem smiled sadly, his drained expression regretful. The light in his eyes was dying. "We tried," he breathed.

Nardus nodded his head, a little overly exaggerated with his sorrow. "We did," he agreed. Neither of them could say, however, that they had succeeded. Not on their own, and not with Akira. "We showed this world our rage, niisan."

"I won't be here to watch over you anymore, little brother..." Always the stronger one, but Nardus saw the tears against his glassy eyes. It hurt him to see. Everything hurt. And Nardus tried to hold on to the moment for as long as he could, to keep at bay what was coming.

But he couldn't. Siem whispered with nothing more, "I'm sorry... Nardus..."

It took Nardus a moment, letting his tears run freely, letting the grief give way to another feeling altogether, before he would let his heart believe that his brother, his only family, was gone. As he held his brother's body, the feeling seeping through that Siem was dead, Nardus let that other feeling take hold.

Anger. Revenge.

* * *

The dust had settled, the room quiet save for the rushing snap of the fires taking over the building, when Weiß and Schwarz began to realize the extent of the situation. The brothers of Betrüger were gone, as were Heinke and Ikeda, but the warehouse was now at odds with the force of nature, and it would lose the battle. It wasn't over just yet.

"_Mist_!" spat Schuldig in his mother tongue, gazing into the fiery abyss that was the entrance. Supporting Farfarello, he asked heavily, "Are we just gonna burn alive here?"

"No," said Crawford surely. "We can still make it out the way Farfarello and I got in. The southern west wall, there's an employee entrance, which we have conveniently opened." The psychotic Schwarz still maintained enough strength and fight to give a wheezing chuckle.

"What about Aya-kun?" Omi asked fearfully.

Ken and Nagi moved back towards the others, away from the inferno approaching them from the outer halls. Siberian said positively, "He can make it!"

"Then let's go," said Manx to Schuldig as she was helping Yoji. "We need to get them to a hospital." But she suddenly felt Yoji tense against her shoulder, and she followed his gaze -

To where they saw, against the billowing wall of smoke and grit, a shadow rise out of the ashes of dust and crumbled wreckage of poles, grates, and wiring. He stood erect against the orange backdrop, dangle earrings reflecting the fire's light and long trench coat blowing in ripples. Nardus was still alive.

Crawford started to move forward, but Ken's arm flew out to stop him. Siberian's eyes never left the other, teal-blue pools dark and tinted as he stared at his opponent, watching Nardus step from the ruins of what was once a part of his world, to stride towards them. He looked worn, face streaked with tears, blood, and sweat, but he looked like he was ready to spring on them - to kill them all.

That's exactly what he was going to do. And Ken was prepared to stop him. This time he had to take him out.

"Ken-kun?" Omi's voice was worried. Nagi, at his side, flinched. But Ken strode out into the center of the collapsed, shattered room, ready to face the other tiger. There was no longer a challenge. It was a battle to the death for revenge, for retribution. This was the final showdown.

There were no words. Nothing shared between the two enemies, Weiß and Betrüger, save for one devastating and spiteful glare. Then, with a fierce battle cry that echoed off the walls and cut through the smoke, Ken plunged forward, lunging at the other with a raised fist. And his claws slashed out with a silvery song.

Nardus grabbed that fist and cracked Siberian's arm to the ground. Ken cried out sharply, then recoiled, sending his leg upwards to slam into the other's side, making him bend awkwardly at the middle. He felt the grip on his arm loosen, and Ken snatched back his hand. Claws extended, he rounded on Nardus, whose eyes now held a fire all their own, a fire full of grief and hate - and no sanity. Fangs bared, Nardus turned, Ken's blow missing, and wailed him in the face. Ken staggered backwards.

Regaining himself, he pressed on, only to find Nardus' talon waiting for him once more. The long blades met with a christening shatter of sparks, the metallic sound ringing in the ears, shrill and pure. Ken stabbed forward, off the balance of his toe, to take his claws to Nardus; but his blow aimed to gut his throat was repelled, then caught on the edge of Nardus' single talon. Nardus brought his other hand up to hold that meeting, supporting his strength. Their eyes held each other's through the heart to heart, crossed blades. Nardus, who usually seemed so full of a dark mirth, who loved a battle, never lost his expression of death and rage. And Ken, for a second, wondered if he could actually beat him.

Rapidly Nardus threw Ken's blade off, pushing the other man's body away. Ken stumbled, feeling the pull of all his muscles, and he saw Nardus lunge at him, talon raised with a deadly glint, bathed in the fires' glow. And suddenly, there came that strange, familiar gust of wind. It caught. It seemed to stop time itself as it drew up an invisible barrier between the two at war, and Ken's eyes went wide with shock. Nagi was - ?

In a whirl, Nardus' blade broke off with no force at all save for the strength of one child's mind, but not before Ken's bagh nakh came up in defense instinctively. He felt the powerful wind press into them, pushing at the Betrüger; even if both wanted to, now, with that wind, they could not stop. And the bagh nakh drove into Nardus' chest, the airstream forcing him into the blades. Steel plunged through the thick of his coat, the thin undershirt, slicing through flesh and muscle, to seek out blood and bones. Nardus made a strangled, surprised sound, half pitiful sob and defeated gasp, eyes glimmering with water and sorrow. He lost.

He fell into Ken, defeated. Glaring, heavy, Nardus growled into Siberian's ear, "I'll see you in Hell, Tiger Claws."

Ken could only share his glare, but he felt no emotions with the spoken threat. Betrüger had lost, yet there was no reward for the winner, either. Nardus was caught on the end of Ken's arm, impaled on his claws, and Ken felt the weight of the Betrüger against him as Nardus lost all balance and support with no strength to remain on his feet.

Ken felt a pull in his chest and gazed down on the bloody, dying man with sincere pity. Why? Why did the world always have to be like this? In the velvet underworld, there was never any compassion, nor forgiveness. Siberian watched despondently as the life slowly slipped from the last brother's body, the tortured look in his eyes fading. As Nardus fell dead to the cold ground, Ken fell with him, hearing Omi gasp behind him in the sudden silence of the room.

There was a long, wet sound as Ken drew out his claws, allowing the wretched soul's corpse to come to rest on the surface of the warehouse's cement floors. He rose to his feet, worn, and looked over to Nagi, trying to keep the hurt suspicion from showing. He hadn't noticed, but the winds of his power had fled as soon as Ken had won. Now the boy gazed at him with a dead-eyed look. The look of Nagi Naoe of Schwarz. A cold-hearted killer. And Ken couldn't help but to wonder, which of them exactly had killed Nardus.

Looking back to the body, alone, sad, Ken sighed quietly, his thoughts pounding, just like his heart. _Hell?_ Could there be some peace to find even there? Maybe, Ken assured himself, he could at least be at ease with his brother. _As long as you have someone...?_

_

* * *

_

Akira Yori smiled, and while it was bright, the white vivid in the darkness, it no longer held any of the smarmy, all-knowing arrogance of one set to take the throne of the underworld. None of the gleeful wickedness was left in his eyes, once so brilliant and crazed. Now he looked every bit as he should; a lost child who finally realized the severity of what he had done. Alone and dying, Akira seemed happy to see the White Hunter.

But Aya's eyes remained those endless, unforgiving pools of violet ice. He didn't feel any sympathy or regret, and nothing about the boy-mastermind would sway him from his target. He was Weiß. He would carry the crucifix to the end, always. Later. He could let those other emotions take over later. Aya stood before the Betrüger head like the shadow of death, quiet, brooding. Lifting his blade in his hands, Aya studied the boy's wound. Shot in the stomach. He would linger terribly, but it would kill him without medical attention. And there was no Betrüger left to help Akria, and it was the perfect time to take out the target. It would all be over soon.

_Then why? Why am I hesitating?_ Aya couldn't seem to leap in for the kill as quick as he usually would. Weiß would slip in and out like Hell's soldiers without questioning or hesitation. But now, watching the child before him, Aya felt as if a weight had been suddenly placed across his shoulders. It wasn't pity for Akira. The targets were never to be pitied; in his mind, that had been set in stone the day he became a Hunter.

Akira spoke up, his voice still strong, but hollow. He said, "You seem surprised to see my state, Aya-kun." He laughed, but without the child-like chime it previously held. A raspy, dismal laugh, unfitting for his typical, dark mirth. His eyes clouded over in agony as he wrapped an arm around his middle against the bloody hole. He continued, "Dear Siem-kun had a grudge against me he just couldn't let go, I guess."

He sucked in air in a harsh wheeze, and Aya could see he was hurting. Pain... in this life, there's always pain. He wondered if the boy had known that before coming into the darkness. He had seemed so prepared for the way ahead, but apparently only for its success. He had every intention of coming out the glorious winner. So young - before Aya had not seen, but now he realized that Akira's manner of thinking into the future was all child's play. Unfortunately, he had gotten into the wrong game. And gazing at the boy, who could very well have been a classmate of his sister's, Aya felt a stabbing pang in his body, and knew the reason why he was stalling.

It was a sadness that held him at bay. Sadness for the lost soul before him. It was terribly unfair, the way life treated its players. He was the target, but he was not in actuality the one to be blamed for this whole ordeal. Akira Yori was another victim of life. Just like Schwarz. And just like Weiß.

The dead-pan laugh came again, and Akira mumbled heavily, drenched in a cold sweat as his other hand gripped the edge of his desk for support, "I guess Betrüger was not as tightly bonded as Weiß, huh?" And suddenly, wretchedly, Aya saw tears sparkle in the corners of his eyes, a forlorn gaze that lifted to look questioningly to the other. "How do you manage, Aya-kun?" he asked, a crack edging his words.

In reply, Aya finally pulled his katana from its sheath, a sweet hiss filling the room, sharp above the muddled roar of the fire behind him. Finally, with his weapon in sight, catching every dying light in the room, Aya felt he would be able to end it. But as Akira gazed on him intently, his eyes full and pleading, all he could do was cross the threshold and stride further into the room. He lifted his blade. And couldn't move beyond that.

Holding gazes, Akira oddly found some sort of answer there, and nodded, one small tear dropping from his eye to mingle with the sweat on his cheek. "I see," he whispered. "Weiß all became friends. You'd die for each other, isn't that so?" He sighed, thinking back. "I never had any friends, maybe except for Heinke-chan. I had thought... revenge was enough to keep us united. Maybe. But I guess I was wrong."

Suddenly he looked past Aya, through the flames. The fire didn't really worry him in the least, but he gazed into the heart of it, seeking something. Or someone. At long last, he said, his voice lost and full of wonder, "Where is Heinke-chan then?" He took another step and fell against the desk.

And Aya lost sight of his other hand. Suspicions rose.

Akira said, "No matter... it doesn't matter anymore..." Standing before the only window in his office, Akira pulled himself to his full height against the oozing wound and torturing pain. He looked at Aya one last time, sharing that look, his lips tilted upwards in a soft grin. "It doesn't matter if they're all dead now. You came to kill me, and I was waiting for you."

He lifted his right arm…

"I never mattered..." His words were lost in the sudden, bursting roar from the fire.

And Aya saw the gun in his hand.

Abyssinian reacted when he saw the boy start to squeeze back on the trigger. He pulled back his arm, and with a lethal grace, threw his katana, ripping it off his palm so it sailed in a perfect arc across the room, over the desk, catching the fire's light - to plunge point-first through Akira Yori's chest. The strength with which Aya had flung it through the air sent it coursing all the way through the boy's lithe body, the force pushing him backwards, until the tip broke through his spine and out his back, sinking into the glass pane of the window behind him; the window shattered noisily, blood splattered.

Akira seemed suspended there for a moment, as if time had slowed incredibly. Then, just as deftly, he straightened his arm and aimed the gun back at Aya. And finally pulled back the trigger.

_CLICK._

A sharp, sad sound. The gun wasn't even loaded. Akira smiled - smiled because he knew it had no rounds to use. Aya felt his heart sink. He watched the boy's knees buckle, saw his small body slip to the floor, seeping blood, losing life. For the first time ever, Aya Fujimiya felt regret over his hasty decision, a decision made spur-of-the-moment in a life-or-death situation. He felt... sorry he had to kill the boy.

For a moment, Aya stood there, feeling the heat of the fire burning behind him, staring into the darkened room, lit by a hateful orange sheen. He couldn't stop the torrent of emotions wracking his mind, reaching, slowly, to his heart. He knew this was the only way, though. Akira Yori had been shot, but at least this way, done by one of Weiß, Kritiker could be certain. Certain that their target had been taken out.

Why did it always have to be like this?

At long last, Aya put a foot forward, one hollow step off the floorboards at a time as he slowly, carefully approached Akira, laying in a growing pool of his own blood on the floor. One hand was braced against the wall, as if the boy thought to attempt to find his feet, but he knew it was useless. Aya, without really knowing what he was doing or why, knelt beside the boy. He saw his chest was hectically vibrating, his fingers flexing, trying to hold on to time, trying to stay alive as long as he could.

Focusing on Aya moving gradually towards him, Akira's chest jumped and thrummed as he tried to chuckle darkly at the world which had branded him, shunned him. He seemed amused to be killed by a White Hunter, but he said hoarsely, amazingly, "I am glad it was you, Aya-kun. I was waiting for you." He coughed, a hard sound, and had to wait a moment more before trying to speak again. The blade hadn't pierced his heart, but it was close. Soon now.

"Would you believe," said the boy, "that I always liked you. Deny it -" he gasped, "- all you want to, but... we're more alike than you realize. I can see it in your eyes, Aya-kun. We both live for revenge alone."

"I know you don't like me, but know I feel..." He chuckled again, but no sound was made. "I guess I'm sorry for dragging you into this." Looking into Aya's eyes, he muttered, "That was my mistake, wasn't it? Trying to kill Weiß. Maybe - maybe we could have been friends… if I had only killed off Schwarz. Would you have teamed up with me instead of them." It wasn't a question, and Aya would never have answered him. He had no words for the boy, no way to foretell the way things might have been.

"Betrüger. Schwarz. Weiß. None of us are to be trusted. Isn't that so?"

A long moment ensued. Gasping lightly, the sound of air in his lungs rattling in his throat, Akira made a pitiable sound, a distressing wrenching sound. His eyes filled with tears as one hand gripped the hilt sticking out of his chest. His mouth tried to form a word, but at first, the gagging cough stopped his voice, bringing wet, black blood against his lips. Finally he managed to find his voice, though his words were drowning, dying. Crushing his eyes closed against the pain, he whispered, holding the hilt tightly, "Please - don't pull it out until... I'm..."

He couldn't finish, and Aya knelt there, watching the sobbing tears seep from the boy's eyes. And he was a boy, merely a child, and now, it hurt Aya to watch him die. But he couldn't close his eyes, wouldn't let himself feel that sorrow. He had to watch, to be the only one with the target while he left this world. Akira opened his eyes, glassy with tears, the light in them, once so full of life and dark fire, was now dimming. But the encroaching paleness of death couldn't hide the intense, heart-wrenching look in those eyes. He held Aya's gaze, and Aya felt him seeking something from his face. He knew what it was before the boy ever spoke again.

"I'm sorry..." Akira whispered, and though his voice was growing more and more distant, Aya heard every word, felt every throb of pain from the child. "I'm sorry..."

And slowly, timidly, Aya felt Akira reach over and take his hand, feeling the numbing coldness already in the boy's grip through his glove. Akira moaned softly. "I'm so scared."

Aya felt it all rush upon him then, pity and grief dredged up from the cold cage in his heart where he always tried to hide his feelings. Weiß had no sympathy for those they killed. But Aya now had sympathy to show the boy. Gently, Aya took hold of Akira's hand, in that gesture showing the dying child more comfort than he had shown most other people. Even though he knew the boy had lost all senses by now, not being able to feel a thing. The physical pain was ebbing for him, but to know that death was upon him was no release from it.

Listening to the boy crying tragically, Aya leaned close over him so their faces were over each other, and whispered easily, "Be at rest now. Your mother is waiting for you."

Believing Aya's deep voice, mellow while not really showing any gentleness, and holding on to those final words as if they were all the truth he needed, the boy's eyes shimmered with a sad smile. And it was in that thought, thinking he died in the company of someone who understood his world, young Akira Yori lost his last battle in life. He died, leaving the world that had done nothing for him fairly, watched over by a White Angel of the night - with no mercy, but only the vengeance of Weiß.

* * *

Suddenly, as the inferno overtook the whole of the main building, finding the gas tanks in the Betrüger vehicles, the entire building jumped with the violent force of the cars exploding, loud bursts of additional fire erupting in melted metal and burnt wirings. A rush of flames, like a searing river, shot into the circular workers room, making Schwarz and Weiß jump and fall back. The back draft of flames through the halls erupted in a loud, thrumming hum, ready to spew heat and death into all the other rooms. But it had already exploded into the office.

Omi dashed towards the hallway and firestorm, as if oblivious to the peril, ready to dive in head first out of fear. "Aya-kun!" he screamed to the halls, hoping his voice might reach. Crawford leaped after him, grabbing the boy to hold him back. "AYA!"

"There's no use in trying to go through that," Crawford warned smoothly.

On the verge of tears, Omi cried, "But, Aya-kun -"

With a slanted, knowing grin, the leader of Schwarz said surely, "He's just fine." Omi, though still blindly fighting his grip, turned his head to gaze hopefully up into Crawford's face, knowing that the American could foresee coming events. And Crawford gave him a reassuring nod of the head.

Ken and Nagi pulled back into the group. Every one of them was raring to leave the building, but still lingering for the sake of the others. Suddenly, above the din, Manx made a startled sound. She lifted a hand to point up to the foreman's enclosed office above the workers' arena. Flames could be seen creeping into the room, but through that, a shadow moved, carrying a blade that glinted with light and blood. Aya appeared out of the room above them, thus far unscathed, staring down onto the beams and pillars. But thanks to Nagi's attack on Siem and Nardus, the stairs were gone; he had no way to escape the blaze.

"Aya!" Ken called worriedly.

With the appearance of the last member, they all began backing towards the exit. Yet no one knew a way to help - except Yoji, who quickly let go of Manx's support and, with every ounce of his waning strength, he hurled loose his garrote wire, sending it vigorously into the air. With a perfect aim, the end caught a sky beam in the ceiling, winding around it. Yoji pulled it tight, grunting as it jerked the muscles in his wounded shoulder. He undid the band of his wrist device, and Schuldig helpfully stepped in.

Without words, the German took the slight weight of the device in his own hands to save Yoji the trouble and pain of throwing it, and with his Cheshire Cat grin, Schuldig called loudly to Aya above, "Catch!"

And he sent the wrist device of Balinese sailing through the air, where Aya caught it, clapped in his hand. Aya immediately leaped off the rise from the high overseer's room, using the wire like a rope to swing down, though it tore through his glove and skin. It was too short, but he dropped easily enough the rest of the way, where Omi quickly went to him. No one had to ask him if the target had been taken out. They knew. As he returned Yoji's weapon to him with a nod, they all knew.

Without words, the groups left behind the bloody scene, moving quickly through the halls and scattered rooms to the side entrance where Crawford and Farfarello had previously cleared an exit. It was there, on instinct, that they all stopped before completely leaving behind the hellish nightmare of the last few days. There was something more that needed their attention.

Weiß and Schwarz stood facing each other, every one of them silent and watching, waiting. The mission was over. Betrüger was gone. Now where did that leave their groups? No one said anything for a long time. But time was not on their side.

Crawford said smoothly, wickedly, every bit of him Schwarz, "The relationship is now over!"

That was all any of them needed. Every one of Weiß and Schwarz withdrew a weapon; safety locks on guns cracked, blades ripped out, wire snapping. They were now at odds again, but before it seemed like Schuldig would finally have his fun reunion, before old wounds tore open and vengeance reborn, something happened that made them all fall back.

"NO!" Omi yelled firmly, spreading his arms wide open and throwing himself before his comrades of Weiß - to protect Schwarz.

At the same time, Nagi put himself in front of Schwarz in defense of Weiß, throwing out one hand, hair lashed by winds and power unseen. Schuldig and Crawford instinctively fell back a step, thinking they would be pummeled with his powers; Farfarello grinned madly. But Nagi would never harm Schwarz, and instead, a beam behind them shattered like a twig, woods chips flying and the ceiling heaving a groan. Standing back to back, Omi Tsukiyono, codename Bombay, and Nagi Naoe would not let the quarreling groups have at each others' throats.

Schwarz glared at their member, while Manx let out a startled, "Omi?" But they could do nothing against their own. No one could move now. It had to come to a stalemate, at least this time around. They didn't bother to exchange any looks of regret or hatred, of thanks or threats, but just parted ways. Manx and Aya helped Yoji out of the burning building as Crawford turned his back on them.

But there was time enough for Omi to throw a thought, now knowing how to communicate with the one of Schwarz through the strength of his mind's voice. He said, always the considerate one, always trying to help, _Schuldig, there's a bomb inside. Be careful, and make sure you get away. _

Schuldig, supporting Farfarello, arched a brow, his eyes showing nothing but surprise. Then, amazingly, a warmth crept into their blue depths. He masked it instantly, but not before Omi saw it. He smirked, always the evil jester, and replied in his own thoughts, Omi opening his mind to hear, _Heh, don't worry about Schwarz, chibi. We know how to take care of ourselves. You boys need to go. We still have some rubbish to clear away._

Omi nodded, trying to keep back his smile. He didn't want to go, because leaving now only meant that things would return to normal, as Aya had said. But he had no choice. He had to go with Weiß. Like Crawford had said, their relationship was over. It had to be. He lingered a moment, sharing a level look with Schuldig, whose eyes clouded over, letting the darkness of Schwarz return. Finally, Omi turned to follow the others, then stopped. And looked to Ken.

Siberian stood limply before the door, holding back just as Omi had. He was bloody, but the pain he felt came from something else entirely. It was the pain of knowing now it was time to say good-bye. He stood, teal colored eyes holding the sight of Nagi, dressed in his pale blue school uniform, fists loose at his sides, ever the cold and solitary Schwarz. He was, with his powers back again, Schwarz.

But Ken didn't want him to be the killer anymore. He had thought, he had hoped, the boy would come back with Weiß, to leave the pain of his past life behind. He had promised him, that no matter what the others thought, Nagi could stay with him. He felt they had left something unsaid, but he didn't know what it was. He felt like an idiot now for having thought that, when after all the child wasn't a stray kitten that would follow around anyone who showed it kindness. But still, Ken didn't want to see him return to Schwarz. He didn't want to say good-bye. _Why should I have to? _

Nagi shared his look, but once again, like the night at the warehouse, his emotions were genuinely masked, his own needs and desires locked away inside himself. Ken had worked so hard to get the boy to open up to life, and now he saw it was all to no avail. Was it possible to change? Schwarz and Weiß - could they ever be anything else? _It shouldn't have to end like this, dammit! _

With no words, Ken reached out a hand, gently, pleadingly, to Nagi Naoe, his eyes full of all the raw thoughts and tumult of emotions he felt. He hoped, through that cold exterior, the boy would see it. He wanted him to leave the life of an assassin of Black. _Please, Nagi…_

The boy looked at his hand a moment, then lifted his navy pools to look deep into Ken's eyes. And Siberian knew that Nagi understood his feelings, but he also sensed, in those eyes, that the telekinetic and mysterious boy had already made up his mind.

With the tiniest of smiles, a light that flickered briefly in his eyes, Nagi nodded his head vaguely. And Ken knew it was his way of saying good-bye. Fighting the disappointment, the grief, and cursing the world for what it was, Ken sighed. He felt Omi put a hand kindly on his arm, heard his soft voice ask worriedly, "Ken-kun?" He knew he had to leave. With one final look, Ken let Omi lead him outside.

Nagi watched him leave forlornly, holding in his heart that last image, even now a memory as everything else, and turned back around to face his friends. Schwarz watched him for a moment, a thousand queries in their eyes, but knew they were better left unsaid. Instead, Crawford turned to survey the dark rooms.

He said, "Let us make certain that when the police arrive, there will be nothing left to find of Betrüger but a charred hole in the earth."

* * *

Schuldig splashed the remaining gasoline from the drum onto the bomb Omi had told him about. The heat in the building was unbearable, especially in his black leather pants. Smoke was drifting into every space, still high enough against the ceilings to allow breathing room; it wouldn't be long now before the flames engulfed everything. A window popped in the distant rooms, blown out by the fires. Schuldig turned to Farfarello, still alive and kicking despite being shot for the second time that week, and grinned.

"Let's go," he said to the psycho, throwing the drum with a heavy rolling thump against the body of the Betrüger woman, Heinke. By the time the police arrived, they would need DNA analysis to identify the five bodies still in the building. If they even took it that far. After all, who would care about them?

Farfarello made his customary, "hmm!" sound, and left the room. Schuldig followed on his heels, then stopped. He turned about to face the approaching flames down the halls, and thought back. Now, standing there, carrot-colored locks enhanced vividly by the flames, he couldn't believe it was all over. It had been a different experience indeed! And Schwarz had survived. And Weiß -

Suddenly, deep within his mind, where he could still hear the voice of little Omi, Schuldig sniffed indignantly at the world, for the enormous joke that life was. Weiß and Schwarz. Black and White. Day and Night. Different. But how different? It was a fine line that had been drawn between the two, and they had all been made aware of that thanks to the Deceivers. But one thing was for certain.

Hell. They were all of them trapped in Hell.

* * *

Crawford watched Nagi's back, his honey-tinted eyes squinted. It wasn't because he had lost his glasses, but his eyes narrowed out of curiosity. The boy had thrown out his hand to ward off Schwarz. Unacceptable. That was completely unacceptable. He didn't care to know his reasons why, but he would definitely have to correct it. Schwarz was currently in a state of shambles, and he'd have to work hard to set it to right.

Nagi felt Crawford's eyes on his back, but he didn't care. Let him contemplate his actions all he wanted. There was nothing Crawford could do to him that would be worse than having to let Ken go, just as he had to let go of Tot. People like that, feelings like that, could never be for someone like him.

Angrily, Nagi thrust out his hand and waved it, palm open, back and forth, watching the flames engulf the room, the fire spreading to wherever he desired. He was a telekinetic of the most powerful kind, able to control objects with thought alone, and though moving the elements for his will was the most difficult, Nagi bent and shaped the flames easily. He didn't even have to concentrate. He had found his gift again, and cherished the feeling of knowing it was there. But there was something else he would cherish even more so, and he wanted it back.

The sweater Ken had given him, that he left back at the underground base. He wanted to hold that in his hands and feel the warmth, at least one last time.

* * *

Schwarz left the building of Betrüger a moment before the blaze overtook the bomb, setting off the explosives with a huge effect of fire and light, sending what was left of the warehouse shattering to the ground. Schwarz felt the blast behind them like a slam in the back, but kept walking, unheeded by the force or the heat. None of them even looked back once.

Weiß stood quietly on the outskirts of the plant and watched it explode violently. Manx knelt on the ground, caring as best she could for Yoji, until she could get him to the hospital. Aya looked to the darkened roads ahead, his thoughts a whir. Death hung heavily over all of them, but more so on Abyssinian; he couldn't stop thinking...

_Schwarz and Wei__ß__ - none of them were to be trusted?_ Aya hadn't expected to live this night. He felt like he hadn't.

Ken and Omi stood quietly side by side, nursing their wounds absentmindedly, eyes caught on the fires, but viewing the past in forlorn remembrance. Their gazes lingered, scanning with the light of the flames for any signs that Schwarz had gotten out alright. But they knew Blackness moved in shadow and mystery. They wouldn't be seen again until they wished it. Ken wondered if he would ever see Nagi Naoe again, knowing it would never be like before. Omi sighed beside him. Both of them had trouble letting go...

Sirens were quickly approaching. But they were too late. There was no life to be found at the sight of the chaos and fires. Now nothing remained of the last few days but that which was recorded to memory. It was over, all of it.


	23. der Epilog

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

der Epilog (Epilogue)

Clack... Clack... Clack... CLACK!

Schuldig watched the keys work all by themselves, smacked down in precision by Nagi Naoe's thoughts. Occasionally he'd lift his eyes to focus on the computer screen, watching the systems of the rebooted Schwarz files at work, communication network opening up once more, but Schuldig found the mysteriously jumping keyboard more fascinating. At the final _clack!_ he grinned devilishly, turned, and gave Crawford a thumbs up.

"That's a wrap," he announced with mirth and satisfaction.

Crawford smirked. "We'll regroup tomorrow morning." He turned to Nagi, who stood several feet away from the computer terminal, staring out the sub-basement window of their underground lair, peering into the dark corridors beyond. He said nothing in reply, but automatically the keys began working again on order.

When it was all finished, and their files began receiving answers from the other heads in confirmation, Schuldig said, "Schwarz is back!"

"Now all that remains," said Crawford deeply, "is to clear out the underground." His almond-shaped eyes flicked to Nagi briefly as he added, "Weiß is too busy at present rebuilding themselves. They don't have time or the means to hunt us out now, but they still know of this place."

At that, it was Schuldig's demeanor that swiftly altered. His brows lowered thoughtfully, almost regretfully, and it made Crawford's eyes narrow. He looked to Nagi, who now stood with his eyes closed. The boy had remained withdrawn and silent since the showdown with Betrüger and tried hard to avoid contact with any of his comrades. Schuldig alone seemed to understand why, but Crawford never bothered to interrogate the mind reader. Frankly, he wasn't positive he wanted to know what was going on in his prodigy's thoughts.

Even Farfarello, casually slumped against the back wall and manually sharpening one of his blades with a small whetting stone, sporting stitches and bandages anew, seemed more aloof, as if pondering something darker than where his next kill would be. As much as he hated to admit it, his prized members of Schwarz had changed over the last week, while working side by side with Weiß. He couldn't pinpoint what exactly was different, nor be sure if it would last, but he did know that it couldn't be tolerated. Whatever rubbed off from the White Hunters mustn't be shown when the organization came back to order. It wasn't a quality that would help them in the long run.

And then, Crawford had to wonder, had _he_ changed at all since his acquaintance with Bombay? Shaking his head as if dismissing the internal query, Crawford turned to the German and said briskly, "Take Nagi and start cleansing the rooms. After tomorrow, we have a lot of work to be done. If Ikeda could turn on Schwarz so easily, I want to know who else may. The garden needs to be thoroughly weeded."

Schuldig glanced at him with a tilt of his head, then nodded solemnly, a gesture unbecoming of the vibrant redhead. Standing from his seat before the computer, he said to the boy-Schwarz with a clap of his hands, "C'mon, chibi. We'll start loading up the arsenal."

Without a look or comment, Nagi turned and slipped from the room. Walking by Farfarello, the psycho bobbed his head like a bird contemplating something as he watched the other pass, and a light glinted in his eye. He couldn't understand the prodigy's newly acquired silence either. Schuldig followed suit, but Brad Crawford's voice stopped him a moment.

"Make sure to destroy anything that's not necessary," said the American. "And no smoking, either."

Schuldig stared at him for a moment, wondering how he knew of his personal stash there, then said, "You are a bastard, you know that, Crawford?" And as he left for the storage area to clear away the artillery, the other two Schwarz left in the room exchanged a long look, realizing that the German had spoken with none of his haughty, good-humored sarcasm. He had been dead serious.

Said Farfarello in an uncaring, yet bewildered tone, "We're not so Black anymore."

"No," said Crawford quickly, "it just takes time."

"Time to forget that boy."

Crawford met the solitary yellow eye with a fierce expression, and his response was dark and angry. "Time to remember what we are." The head of Schwarz wasn't about to linger on possibilities and relationships. They started out with one goal, fueled by their undeniable hatred, and he wasn't about to see that wasted.

Farfarello's lips curled away in a feral smile. "Not Weiß," he purred.

The American nodded, and reminded, his voice resonant and piercing, full of all the firm authority he always held, "We are their enemies."

And he would make certain that it would stay that way, forever. They were Schwarz. Black. In their dark world of revenge and nightmares, there were no shades of gray. To himself, Crawford thought, _I have a lot of work to do again, to shape them back to what they were... _

_What we all were before Wei__ß__. _

_

* * *

_

Nagi stood in the dim, musty smelling room, facing the massive double doors that stood spread open before him. Schuldig had drug a hand truck of rifle cases and crates of ammo to the elevators to be taken to the loading area for their men to pick up later that night. While he was gone, the telekinetic took the opportunity to rummage through the closet. And pull out the hunter green sweater with its navy blue and tan strips that Ken Hidaka had given him.

He couldn't stop the sad sigh that rose in his chest at the sight of the piece of material again. Nagi rubbed his fingers through the fibers, feeling the soft warmth, such a complete opposite to the stiff, cold world he had again. To return to Schwarz was the only thing he could do. When Heinke had struck him, when he once more felt that well of power deep inside, to feel his very being and existence return to him, Nagi realized how much he needed that sensation. He needed to be Schwarz, because that was his world, where he belonged.

Yet deep inside, in a place past that well of mysterious power, a tiny crevice where a whole lifetime of pain and abuse couldn't touch with dark thoughts, there was the smallest of lights, and that part of him wanted something else entirely. It longed for something the world of Schwarz could not give. Nagi doubted even Tot, whom he had cared for, could give it. His world was callous and unforgiving, and it had trained him to be in its image. He didn't mind, because being callous left no room to feel pain, emotional or physical. But that small part of him wanted what normal, happy people experienced. Sympathy. Acceptance. Dare he even say it? To think it? That part of him needed to be loved? And, for a moment, he wondered if he could have found that with Weiß. With Ken.

_It's better this way._

Nagi jerked when that voice intruded, when a hand yanked the sweater from his delicate grip. The boy rounded, eyes set in a low glare, and locked wills with Schuldig. The tall German towered over him, expression dismal, chiseled face lost in shadows, but immediately Nagi knew something was different about him. He knew they all were different, in some slight way. The German held none of his seething attitude, the smart-mouth, slick sarcasm that was always Schuldig. He seemed serious, and almost caring, both traits that were rather out of character.

Nagi frowned at his hands, where the German held the sweater Ken had given him, and instantly threw up his mental barrier, to keep at bay Schuldig's mind. What the other said next made his heart shatter.

"Crawford gave orders to ditch anything we don't need."

For a long while they stared at each other, but there was no challenge being drawn up between them. Both members of Schwarz were sizing the other one up, as if by silently looking, they could determine exactly what was on their minds; what exactly they were hiding in their hearts from the world. Nagi waited for him to destroy what he wanted, what he needed to cherish as his only means to another world.

And suddenly, surprisingly, Schuldig handed him back the sweater. "Don't ever let Crawford know," he warned. And with that simple statement, Nagi understood that the German didn't just mean about the garment, but everything; Schuldig knew everything. Taking back the shirt and clutching it to his chest, the boy-Schwarz realized he didn't give a damn who knew.

Nagi felt a familiar mental "tap" on his brain, and hesitantly, he opened himself up to Schuldig, allowing the other to enter into the most private area of himself, that would typically be oblivious to any outside person. At first, Schuldig's mind-voice had no words. Indeed, he felt at a loss, and frustrated with himself, the situation. Finally he said, _Chibi, that world is not a place for people like us. You remember what it was like when you were little, don't you? It doesn't change. _

_I don't want the world that I was given when I was little,_ Nagi Naoe replied huskily in his thoughts.

A smirk played on Schuldig's lips, but it seemed sad. _You want his world? _

Nagi flushed, enraged, embarrassed, and turned his face away from the other, his crude hair hanging limply over his face, blocking him out. He didn't want to reply to that, but still, despite his harsh response, Nagi didn't close out Schuldig. All those raw emotions, though quickly masked, were left open to the German. He didn't understand, but then, Schuldig didn't want to. He didn't want to know anything else.

_We have to forget,_ he said inside. The use of the word "we" made Nagi blink in mild astonishment. _We are Schwarz. We'll always be Schwarz, and there's no way to fight that cross. It's better this way._ With that, Schuldig left the storage room, his heavy footfalls echoing through the halls long after.

Nagi listened to that hollow sound, which gave way to the lonely echo of silence. He could feel the darkness and shadows around him, the blackness of which he was a part of. Lifting his eyes to the ceiling, as if he could see some perfect world on high beyond the nightmares and death, Nagi thought back, one last time. Ken Hidaka had held out his hand to him, had offered him something more. He wondered, should he ever need it, if that hand would be offered again.

_I am Schwarz. Always._

But did always mean forever?

* * *

"I think we'll be ready to open shop by tomorrow," said Ken Hidaka, hands on his hips as he surveyed their new store.

Once Kritiker had gotten back into something resembling order, they had spared enough funds to purchase Weiß an actual store front for their floral business. Their cover profession wasn't as big, square foot-wise, as the Koneko no Sumu-ie, but that was the plan. As long as they remained low-key and far enough away as not to pose any competition with Momoe and Aya's girls, they would be set. After all, it wasn't as if their livelihood depended on them being successful florists.

Sitting behind the cashier desk, Omi lifted his eyes long enough from his task of winding the receipt paper in the register to smile and reply, "Now if only our apartment upstairs looked this neat!"

Ken laughed, then said, "It won't kill you to live out of boxes for a little while longer. Just be thankful that Kritiker got us a place with living space on the top floor." Omi knew what he meant. Since they could live in the upstairs, that left the basement rooms free for not only stock, but their gear, computers and equipment as well. Weiß was back in business, at all levels.

"Rent is pretty good, too," mused Siberian mundanely as he finished cleaning the front showcase windows. He moved behind the register to throw out the towels in the trash can hidden off the sales floor, away from future customers. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that sad, distant look on Bombay's face return. Omi hadn't been himself since the demise of Betrüger, lapsing into bouts of silence and depression. Over what, Ken wasn't really certain.

Low brows set over his large, teal eyes, Ken eased in a breath and finally dared to ask, his brotherly voice firm yet gentle, "Omi, did something happen with Schwarz?"

Blinking free from his thoughts, Omi turned his huge eyes to look questioningly up into Ken's face. "Eh?"

"They didn't do anything to you, did they?" A viciousness crept into his eyes, as if, at a word, Siberian would hunt them down and mete out justice all on his own.

But Omi shook his head, barely rustling his dark honey-colored hair under his backwards cap, and he fell silent once more. Ken felt worry tighten his chest, then instantly the regret hit home. "Sorry!" he said swiftly, moving back out onto the floor, as if he completely overstepped his bounds. "I don't want to pry. I know it takes time -"

"Ken-kun?"

"Yeah?" He fought to keep his voice calm and upbeat, but it was hard, even with cheerful little Omi.

Bombay asked, staring at his hands resting atop the register buttons, "Something happened to you, too, didn't it? With Schwarz?"

Ken sighed, and despite his total understanding, found himself saying, "What do you mean?"

"We've changed, haven't we?"

A sad smile came to his lips and Ken nodded to himself. "I guess we have."

"Yoji-kun pretends he doesn't see it, and Aya-kun..." Omi stopped, his thoughts drifting towards the forlorn, firm look always seen in Abyssinian's eyes. "Aya-kun doesn't approve."

Ken sighed heavily, feeling the weight across his shoulders return. He always felt like that, like gravity was forcing him to the floor, trying to smash every last memory out of him. And he fought it all the way. Omi had the same intensity in his eyes, the look of someone trying to hold on to something when the world was telling him to let go, against his will. He hated to admit it, but Schwarz had actually gotten under their skin, and in a GOOD way. _Who would have thought?_

Over a sigh of his own, Omi said softly, "Aya-kun said that it would be easy to move on. From one mission to the next, without looking back. But... I don't want to forget. If we came face to face again, we have to be enemies, like we were before." A shimmer edged his expressive eyes, and Ken could see how much that truth was hurting him. "I don't want to forget -"

Suddenly Ken cut off his dismal thoughts, placing one slender finger softly against Omi's lips to hush the boy. He smiled then, an eased, sure smile, and shook his head. "Then don't forget," he said sincerely, removing his finger. "Because God knows I won't. We can continue on as Weiß, because we have to. But no one can force you to forget what you want."

"What I want?" Omi mimicked sadly, as if he weren't certain of such a thing any longer. At Ken's nod, Omi smiled and scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. But that smile was bright and innocent, everything Bombay had always been. Ken felt overjoyed to see his smile return. But his next thought brought back some of the drear, and deep inside, he wondered if Nagi would ever smile again. _God knows I won't forget._

Of a sudden the bell above the door chimed loudly as Yoji Kudou entered the store, shades down against the full midday sun outdoors as he returned from another session of physical therapy. His arm was still in a cast and sling from where he had been shot in the shoulder, but the fact did little to damper his spirits. His grin was vibrant and beaming.

"How was school?" Ken chided.

"Idiot!" Yoji laughed, leaning his good hand against his slender hip. "But jest all you want because it won't bother me. I just heard some good news from Birman."

"Do tell."

"It seems with the death of poor old Pappa Yori, Kritiker is currently looking for a new source of funds, but they've decided to promote Manx up in ranks. She'll now be in charge of all of Kritiker unit here in Tokyo."

"It's about time!" said Ken happily.

Omi was pleased as well, but he said thoughtfully, "I hope that doesn't mean we won't see her as often."

"Maybe you guys won't," smirked Yoji with a carefree tilt of his head.

Ken's smile turned devilish. "That's right, you two have a date tomorrow night, huh?"

Brushing his right hand through his wavy locks, the Playboy said charmingly, "Don't expect me to kiss and tell, though, ladies." Ken and Omi shared a grin.

They all turned, smiling, to the basement door as it suddenly creaked loudly on the hinges, swinging open. They thought to share their laid back and happy teasing with Aya, but only the dark mouth to the basement stairs looked back with no one there to joke with. The cheerful expressions faded from their trio of faces, as day gives way to night, and without curious shrugs or a call after Aya, they all took the stairs. Leaving behind the sunny store, the three young men entered the dark room lit with only shadows and one lone screen. A clock was counting down.

Aya stood there, waiting for them, his violet eyes set in a seriously anxious look, arms folded over his broad chest. Despite his casual clothes, his katana sat expectantly at his side, propped against the leg of the desk atop which sat a network of computers. Omi took his place at those systems as Ken and Yoji readied themselves out around the screen, waiting.

They would never forget what they were. Weiß awaited the start of their new mission.

"White Hunters, hunt the tomorrow of the Dark Beasts!"

**The End.**


	24. die Anmerkung

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

die Anmerkung (Author's Note)

It's been over two years now since I originally wrote _Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz _(which translates as _Fight the Cross_) and I am flattered to no end (and slightly shocked) that people are still giving praise to this fan fiction, as well as urging me to write more. Everyone, thank you! It means the world to me!

I am merely an anime fan, and I wrote this story for fun, because I love Weiß and Schwarz, and am deeply moved by the struggles they must face to remain human despite the heavy burden they bear. I've also always took great pleasure in writing and telling a good story. Unfortunately as a fan, I have mundane responsibilities that left me with sever writer's block this past year, and I haven't updated any works in some time.

I am hoping to remedy this shortly, and start work on my fan fictions again. I have edited _Bekämpfen _as best I can (since I did get a few comments on my spelling mistakes) and am moving on to new attempts. I hope everyone will stick with me as I try to get my muse in working order, and back into writing as I once did. Thank you again to all those who have reviewed and favored this story; I appreciate your honest critiques and thoughtful encouragement more than you could know! :)

~ Vitani  
April 27, 2003

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Weiß kreuz_ and all its characters remain property of © Project Weiß, Takehito Koyasu, Kyouko Tsuchiya, Marine Entertainment, and many other talented people. All rights reserved. All original characters and events remain property of the fan fiction author and should not be used without permission. No infringement is intended by this not-for-profit fan story.

**A note on Weiß timeline:** This story was written using the anime as a reference only, and was before I had actually seen the OVAs, instead going off of reviews I'd read online for _Verbrechen_ and _Strafe_. It is in no way related to the manga, drama CDs, or the new _Glühen_ series, so apologies if some facts seem contradicting.

**A note on Japanese:** I know many people dislike when you intermingle languages, and I have done my best to edit most of the Japanese language out. However, I have left some of the more easy words here and there, providing follow-up details as to the word's meaning. I never watch foreign films dubbed, and therefore when I'm writing in character, it's just more believable envisioning little Omi gasping _"Masaka!"_ instead of _"What in the world!"_. For me, anyway. Plus, as someone who keeps a thesaurus close at hand while writing, it gave me more words to use and alter the flavor of a sentence. So yes, I do "-kun" everyone when Omi is speaking, and I use "niisan" (affectionate term for an older brother) when Nardus addresses Siem.

**A note on German:** Quite simply, I don't know this language at all. So thank you to those who have helped, especially Daviella and the many translation services available online! And for those of you wondering, while "Betrüger" _is_ German, the names of Heinke, Siem and Nardus are, I believe, Dutch (or that general area in Europe).


	25. Ergänzung

**WEIß KREUZ  
**_**Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz**_

Ergänzung (Supplement)

Happy Anniversary! On February 5, 2011, this story celebrated its 10th anniversary from the first original publish date here on FanFiction. So with the help of my wonderful and supportive beta-reader, **Sybil Rowan**, who is a far better technical writer than I, we have given it one final edit. As another update, I would like to thank reviewer **eva **for correcting some of my German! Now it is as perfect as it will ever be, and is ready to go back into the archives.

But hopefully it will continue to be remembered. 10 years is a _long_ time, but not so long as to forget. I know I still vividly remember writing this bit of fan fiction, and I remember everyone I've ever chatted with about it, even if I haven't heard from almost all of them for years. I'm still deeply touched by all the reviews, critiques, and apparently good memories that other people have of _Bekämpfen Sie das Kreuz_. It means a lot, truly.

Thank you everyone for giving me the chance to share my fangirl work with you! In answer to some queries, I _do_ still write fan fiction, although my posts are few and far between. You can check out my profile for current updates and offerings. I appreciate the on-going encouragement!

Please continue to enjoy _Weiß kreuz _- I still do! ;)

~ Heather (aka Vitani or hlwar)  
March 31, 2011


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